#but god damn does she have a shorter temper now

[crows-of-buckets]

You know, as much as I'm sure Aviae is not thrilled about being back at the circle, telling Gregoir exactly how she thought of him probably felt so good. Was it a good time for this conversation? Absolutely not but Aviae has hated that man since she met him, and now she can tell him exactly what she thinks of him without worry of being made tranquil.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

been a while since i posted a fic update! anyone wanna read some cowboy au nonsense? sure you do! well here it is

The blinding, unforgiving midday heat is enough to raise blisters on the skin. Looking out over a crowd of folks booing him, calling for his demise, probably should have had some kind of emotional impact. On the occasion of one’s death, after all, one does expect tears. Flowers, laid out in lace, dark veils and coal black clothes, a few muffled sobs from those further back in the funerary procession, unable to contain themselves. Instead he’s met with the dusty faces of former neighbors and strangers alike, all eagerly waiting to hear the exact tone and pitch that his neck will make when it snaps.

Bored, he turns his attention from the crowd, and watches a lizard scurry across the wooden planks of the gallows, as a man to his right fits a rough bit of rope around his neck. It scratches, but he doesn’t react, not feeling frightened or even especially interested. A similar rough twine is binding his hands together behind his back, keeping him from having any viable way to save himself. The crowd is calling for blood now. Hangings generally are not gorey affairs, but he did once see a drop too sudden and a rope so long that the fella wasn’t just hung, he was decapitated. Beetlejuice glances back down at the crowd, tries to imagine what direction his head would roll if that happened here, and smirks, because it seems to him the last thing he’d see would be the view from inside the skirts of some of the women standing front and center. Not the worst last sight a man could have. “You think you could hurry this along?” he asks the man fitting the noose around his neck. “Sun’s beatin’ down somethin’ fierce an’ I ain’t got my hat.” His personal possessions are back at the sheriff’s office- hat, bandana, silver plated, pearl handled pistol, and his custom belt buckle, just about the nicest, and maybe only, thing he ever paid for. God damn corrupt lawman’s probably gonna pawn his stuff as soon as he’s swinging. Maybe before. Maybe his last worldly possessions are already gone. S’not like he’ll need them, where he’s goin.

A face he recognizes is led up from the crowd, an ancient wizened body tanned for years by the all too eager sunlight and scorching sands. It’s the local preacher, who he remembers from his formative years. The old man used to give him bread and plain, unseasoned chicken in return for listening to him talk about god, and if he hadn’t been nearly starved to death half the time, he might have spat in the old man’s face. Shouldn't charity be done for the sake of charity, not proselytizing? He’d said so once, and that was the last meal the old miser had given him. Jackass.

“Beetlejuice,” the preacher begins. His name is said with disdain and a curled upper lip. It’s one of the reasons he chose it, honestly. “You still have time to repent, young man. I remember you, as a child, bright eyed, curious about the kingdom of heaven.” Well now, that’s the very definition of taking artist liberty. “Now, here, you have one more chance to repent, to accept god’s mercy, and avoid the lake of fire.” The crowd is watching, waiting to see if he will confess his remorse. Beetlejuice hums, rocks on the balls of his feet, and then sighs. “.. C’mere,” He mumbles, jerking his head to indicate the old man should step closer. The holy man does. “I got a lot to confess to, preacher man, an’ not much time.” His voice is soft. The ailing man can’t hear him, steps closer, if only a little. “So much to confess to, in fact, I oughta just… Skip th’ whole thing an’ go straight to hell!” And Beetlejuice reels back, and then slams his forehead into the old man’s face. The sickeningly satisfying crunch of cartilage tells him he’s broken the preacher’s nose, as the elderly man falls back, crying out in pain, blood gushing from his new wound. The crowd roars, furious, and he grins, and laughs. “Ain’t no good extendin’ your pious pity to me!” he calls, gleeful, as he’s pelted with whatever the people watching can get their hands on, and the old man is helped, taken away, led off of the platform. “Enough, enough, we will have order!” a lawman cries, coming up the gallow steps, to stand in front of the outlaw. It’s enough to get the crowd to settle, or at least stop throwing things. There’s still a bad energy in the air, which Beetlejuice can taste on the tip of his tongue. His smile is rictus, he’s delighted to be the cause of it all.

“This man has been tried and found guilty,” the lawman continues. The trial had been very short, and his incarceration shorter. He understands he’s being made an example of to other outlaws, bandits, and trouble makers. They intentionally didn’t give him any time to plan anything, or for any coconspirators to come and assist him. Joke’s on them. They could have taken all the time in the world. Ain’t nobody alive who cares for this outlaw. Not a soul who would dare to come and stage a rescue. He’s utterly alone. “He’s allowed his last words. Clearly,” the lawman turns, eyes Beetlejuice, who smiles flirtatiously. The other man’s expression shifts from annoyance to disgust. “He’s disavowed the advice of Pastor Neighbors.” “M’not so sure you’re usin’ that word right, friend,” Beetlejuice snorts, but he’s ignored. “Any last words?” the hangman to his right asks, his hand itching to grip the lever that will drop the floor and finally, finally, release the outlaw from the confines of mortal life.

Beetlejuice grins.

“If any of you have a message for th’ devil, give it to me!” he shouts, with a cackle, and he watches in rapt and morbid delight at the way the faces in the crowd twist. “I’ll carry it down to hell for you!” The crowd is furious enough it almost seems to him they’re going to storm the platform, and maybe beat him to death. The wave of gasps from the women folk is particularly amusing.

“Enough of this!” He hears the voice of the lawman, disgusted, and the hangman must agree, because the last thing he hears is the lever being thrown, and the floor gives out under him, and he’s falling, falling, falling.

His ass hits a chair.

There’s a moment of blinded confusion, because he's gone from the unbearable dusty sun of midday California, to a cool, dark, musty smelling interior. His eyes need a moment to adjust to the change. He’s sitting in a room he doesn’t recognize. The chair under him is plush, but just thin seated enough to be a tad uncomfortable. He squirms in it, confused, and finds his hands are still tied behind his back. He turns his head. Seated across from him is a young woman.. Well, little girl might be more accurate, she’s maybe fourteen. There’s a wicked looking hoofprint emblazoned on her right temple. The blood that’s leaking from the wound has gone a sickly old color. They stare at each other. “Did that hurt?” she asks, first, and he squints, because he’d been about to ask the same question. Her hand has gone to her throat, as she looks at him, and he looks down, pressing his fat face into his fat neck to create an unflattering double chin as he does so. He can feel the rope around his neck. He follows the line of it with his eyes, and turns to look up. The rope travels up from him, into the ceiling. It’s still taught, like he’s suspended by it, but his ass is touching chair, his boots are on the ground, and he doesn’t feel choked by it’s presence. He tuts. “Didn’t feel a thing. That hurt?” he tries to gesture to her wound, but again, he’s reminded his hands are bound behind him. She stands. “Hurt a bit, but then I got so dizzy I didn’t hardly feel it, after,” she tells him, and then, like the good little frontierswoman she is, she produces a knife from inside some pocket in the volume of her skirts, and gratefully, he leans forward. She rests a knee on one of the chairs, to get a better angle, as she uses her bowie to cut through the rope at his wrists. “Awful kind of you, half pint,” he tells her, and she smiles. “Ain’t nothin.” She settles into the chair next to him, which is a little surprising, but he doesn’t mind, over all. “You’re an outlaw, then?” she asks. He grunts, and then turns to face her, with a grin. “You probably heard of me. They called me Th’ Ghost, on occasion, cause I could slip away without bein’ caught-” he watches her eyes travel up the line of his noose, and then settle back on his face, a little less impressed than she ought to be. He responds by pinching her nose, and she swats at his hand, and laughs. “I do think I heard of you,” she concedes. “I’m Presley.” “Presley, alright. You got a clue where we are, kiddo?” “I just was told to wait.” “Told by who?”

Across the room, a window he hadn’t registered as being there slides open. This place vaguely resembles a bank, he realizes, and so that means that’s the teller’s window. A woman with a tired expression on a pretty face peers out at him. “Hey, dead beat,” she calls, her accent thick around the words. “Juno wants to see you.” He motions to himself, questioningly. She raises an eyebrow in silent confirmation. “Should I care?” he asks, and her upper lip curls in the most beautiful version of a sneer he’s ever seen. “You’re real funny. Get in there before she loses her temper.” And she reaches up, and slams the window shut.

He looks to Presley, and they both share a little shrug, before he stands, and takes a step. The rope going through the ceiling moves with him, not along any visible track, that he can see, but seeming rather more like a toy balloon on a string, bobbing along as though after a child winding their way through the crowd of a state fair. There’s a door by the teller’s window, and he makes for it, only for the window to slide open again, and that beautiful face to reappear. She looks him over, not seeming particularly impressed, but also not outright cruel. “Where’s your handbook?” she asks. Beetlejuice tilts his head. It lolls a little comically to one side, presumably because his neck is broken. She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t be serious. You didn’t bring your handbook?” “Listen, lady, even if I had whatever book you’re talkin about, I couldn’t read it,” he counters, and she pauses, at that. “Illiterate. Of course. What’s even the point of the handbook when so many folks can’t read it?” she mutters to herself, and then she waives him at the door, the conversation apparently over. Alright.

The door, predictably, leads to a hallway, a bit unlike anything he’s ever seen before, in terms of sheer length of the thing. It twists around like a snake, and the number of doors along the hall leads him to believe wherever he is, it’s massive. The hallway is empty, save for a man at the far end, mopping, and there doesn’t seem to be anything around for him to tuck into his pockets. Too bad, he mopes, as he carries himself down the hall, boots clacking in a way he finds tactile and pleasant. He passes the custodian, who stares at the floor behind him and sighs, and Beetlejuice looks back to see a mess of dusty footprints he’s left on a previously slightly damp but otherwise pristine floor. With a snort, he spits into the bucket of mop water, and the other man jumps back, disgusted, as Beetlejuice cackles, and continues his leisurely walk down the hall.

At a certain point he realizes he’s got no idea where he’s going, but it doesn’t especially matter. Wherever he is now, whatever version of the afterlife this is, because clearly, that’s what this is, it doesn’t seem to be fire and brimstone and all that bullshit, so he takes it easy, opening doors at random and peeking through. The things he sees don’t always make sense to him, feel like they’re out of place from the world as he knows it. He opens one door, and suddenly he’s staring at what must be a city, but the buildings are so tall they’re touching the sky, going up past the clouds, up into the heaven he doesn’t believe can really be up there. The people are dressed strangely, men and women wandering around in little more than underclothes, which he likes, instantly, and the streets are black with painted yellow lines, instead of dust and earth. Some kind of metal.. Something, a trolley without a track, moves on it’s own down the street, and he catches a glimpse of faces inside. He gets lost in the contents of this door, staring for a long time, entranced, and then it’s slammed suddenly. He turns, catches sight of the custodian with his hand on the door, and growls, an animalistic sound he didn’t know he could do. And then he stops, and turns to look, because the custodian is still a ways behind him, mopping with spit water. It’s the same man. “You don’t need to go poking your snout into places it doesn’t belong,” the man says, simply, and then in a blink, both versions of him are gone from the hallway. Maybe that’s just an… afterlife thing.

He reaches, after what feels like a boring and dragging eternity of twenty whole minutes, a set of saloon doors, the swinging kind. There’s a void of blackness behind them, but the draw he feels is unmistakable, and he pushes them open, and walks through. Instead of a room black as ink, he finds himself… standing on the wooden porch of a bar he remembers frequenting fairly often, in his younger days. At least, he has clear memories of walking into the bar. How and when and why he ended up outside of it, well… whiskey has a hell of an effect on a man’s memory. It’s a fairly chilly desert night. The chirping of crickets and the long ways away lonely baying of a dog is a sort of familiar comfort, but god damn it, he’s just left this world. He wasn’t intending on coming back to it, ever. The dusty streets are dim, illuminated only by the moon, the stars, and the few lamps still burning in windows. The town is quiet.

On the dirt road in front of him is a woman, staring at him. She’s small, older, nicely dressed, with hair shorter than he’s ever seen on a lady, and a mouth sort of like a toad, long and downturned. There’s an unlit cigarette between her fingers. She’s watching him, curious and apathetic all at once. He returns the look. “Juno, then?” he grunts, stepping off the porch. No dust lifts when his boots hit the unpaved road, which he notes. Maybe he’s not really here. Maybe he’s a ghost. Fitting.

“Lawrence “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth,” she says, as he comes to stand in front of her. “Took you long enough. You realize I’ve been waiting here for days. You get lost, or something?” Her tone is sharp, like a schoolmarm with too much on her hands and not enough energy for it all. He feels a little sheepish, if only because no, he hadn’t realized that. “Gimme a break,” he says, instead of an apology. “I just died.” “Like that makes you special,” she huffs, and then, waving her unlit cigarette in his face, machine rolled, not hand, he notes, she asks, “Have you got a match?” He produces one from one of the many pockets of his moss green duster, strikes it on his thumb, and holds it up for her. She has the decency to look grateful, as she leans in, cigarette to her lips, and lights it from that little flame. “So,” she exhales smoke, and it curls from the corner of her lips, and out a previously unspotted slash to her throat. No wondering how she died, then. Speaking of, he glances up, to see that his noose is no longer floating above his head, and turning, he catches sight of it dragging on the ground behind him, long and snake-like in the way it’s twisted and coiled. Juno snaps her long red nails in his face, brings his attention back to her. “You weren’t supposed to die, you know. You’ve mucked things up for me.” “Whut?” he grunts, a bit thrown. She rubs her temples. “You were supposed to go in your seventies. Catch tuberculosis and wither away in obscurity. How old are you?” “Thirty four, or abouts,” he croaks, and she takes another drag. “You let yourself be caught,” she accuses. Well.. yeah. But how the hell does she know that? “I got pinned down in a shootout. Lucky they didn’t blow my head off, right then.” “You’ve gotten out of worse.” She looks almost.. Disappointed. “And then you put down your weapons, instead of fighting it out.” “I was surrounded.” “You were sloppy.” “What’s it to you, anyway?” he growls, again low and animalistic, which Juno ignores, as she walks circles around him, studying him. “You let yourself be caught, and you let yourself be hung. You didn’t even try to get away. You might not have killed yourself, but you let them kill you, for you,” she says. “And it’s giving me a hell of a time, both because it’s changed you, and because I have to put you somewhere, Beetlejuice, and now no one knows where you should go.” “So what does that mean?” “It means, my little statistical outlier, that you’re going to be staying up here, probably a lot broader a time than it would have taken you to just live your life and die at seventy,” she sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “Which is a shame. Because.. I was looking forward to.. To you. And now we both have to wait longer,” and here, she finishes her circle of him, to stand face to face with him again, and she flicks his ear, the way he always imagined an frustrated mother might. “Because you gave up. You weren’t supposed to give up.” “Wasn't much worth livin’ for,” he says, and it’s got more emotion behind it than he meant to give it. Juno’s hand goes to her throat, and she looks pained. “I guess that’s an inherited trait,” her voice is soft, and he squints at her, confused. Instead of giving him any context for that, she points down the dusty main road. Shining under the moonlight, he can see, vaguely, a dark shape suspended in air, near the gallows. “Go put your suit back on,” she says dryly. “And try not to cause enough trouble that I have to come up here and get after you, understood?” “What part of outlaw ain’t you gettin?” he snorts, and she responds by giving him an affectionate pat to his scruffy cheek, before she takes another drag, and vanishes inside the swirling smoke. He’s left standing on his own.

His “suit” is still hanging, he notes, looking up at himself. He’s strung up on a tall pole by the platform, leaving it free for more use, if need be, with his body on display as a gruesome reminder for potential criminals that this is a hanging town, and they’ve even hung their most despised son. His neck is bent at an ugly angle, a little bulge at the side betraying how exactly his bones had shattered, and his skin has gone a bad color, gray and foul looking. But aside from that, he’s not rotted the way he would think he ought to be. Juno’d said she’d been waiting for days, presumably meaning it has been days since his death, but his body is looking remarkably unbuzzard pecked and unrotted. He shimmies up the pole he’s hung from, his ghostly noose trailing behind him, and the moment he touches his own boot, the world spins, going upside down and inside out in a way that’s too painful to try and perceive.

“Gahh-” says Beetlejuice, because he’s back in his body, which is still being hung by that god damn noose, and he realizes, annoyed, that he has no way of cutting himself down. He kicks, pointlessly, one hand going to the rope at his neck, to clutch it and try to keep it from choking himself again, and the other grabbing at the rope further up, gripping it to pull himself up, give himself some slack, instead of hanging taught. It’s not the most coordinated he’s ever been. At least there’s no one around to watch him struggle.

“Holy shit, the body’s movin!” he hears someone holler. Oh, come on.

Read the rest, right over HERE

[catlarusso]

Moon Child. Part 1: religious fervor @ckhalloween prompt list.

Au: historical 1800’s, This is going to be a series about hunters Kreese and Silver, werewolf Johnny, and a sweet little doe eyed waiter Daniel. What bad things could possibly happen? (Note: Daniel and Johnny are aged up, please mind this when it gets explicit)

The Half Moon tavern Daniel worked at never seemed to go empty. Growing up here, learning to walk across these floors just to turn around and get on his knees to scrub them, it’s never been quiet. But the silence that seemed to grip around the old oak walls and squeeze them inwards now, felt like the closest thing he’ll ever get to empty.

“I asked,” the hunter in the doorway repeated, his face and lips were as tightly pulled back in a snear as his ink black hair on head was pulled into a leather ring, “if you damn people have seen any wolves around here?!” His temper didn’t match the cozy inn’s interior.

Daniel gripped the serving tray to his thin waist. Using it to cross his arms over his most sensitive place, his gut, and glared down the two new men.

They introduced themselves as hunters. One tall as the door frame and the other stockier with a rugged tan and stubble beard. They both were weighed down with gear and sleeping rolls insinuating they had been traveling for a while. Maybe their equipment was heavy, it didn’t allow for their rude tone.

The simple towns people seated at tables and the long bar all around them lingered in their silence. Turning from the hunters to each other. All not sure how to reply to the question.

Thankfully, Daniel’s mother must have sensed the change in her beloved tavern from the stove in the kitchen. She came out wiping her hands on her apron, before settling them on her hips.

She wasn’t even as tall as the shorter of the two men, but her eyes were dark. And her temper quick to bite back.

“What in God’s name gave you the right to barge into my place and start questionin’ my folk?” She had sweat on her forehead that clung to the frizzy curls creating a halo around her, and a flick in her eyebrow meaning she wasn’t truly asking.

The taller hunter sneered even deeper, if he could, stepping more into the tavern. “God is exactly what brings us, woman! These beasts are an abomination—,”

“These beasts ain’t here havin’ a drink, are they?” Daniel’s mother waves one hand around the room. Making them look at the obvious peace they’ve put a stick in the wheel cogs of.

The two hunters go silent for a moment. They glance at each other with raised brows, silently talking with subtle movements of their face. Daniel watched as they lost some of the puff in their chests, sinking down an inch into the old wood floors.

“Apologies, m’Lady Barkeep,” the one with his hair tied back spoke again. This time softer, pleasant, his head slightly bowed.

“Lucille LaRusso. And good eye, I am the barkeep around here.” Daniel’s mother introduced herself as. Her taught shoulders going limp as the fighting seemed to be done with.

Lifting one hand, the man motioned to his companion, “John Kreese, my closest friend and traveling companion. And I am named Terrance, though I prefer the name Terry. Terry Silver.”

Lucille glanced them up and down. Even with Terry taking a kinder approach, he still had a lingering attitude to him. A bitterness come from how he didn’t seem to get his way. And was now forcing a tight lipped smile.

Daniel wanted his mother to kick them out, to send them right back to the fog they rolled in with. To have them sleep on the cold floor of the thick forest outside.

But he knew his mother was too kind for that, and didn’t have time for much arguing. She was supposed to be in the back cooking all the food. So Lucille ran a hand down her face and then pushed another though her wild mess of brown curls. Finally, she leveled the new men with an albeit tired but real smile.

“Welcome to Half Moon Tavern, gentleman. Take a seat and a pint of beer will be on me.”

The two nodded somberly, turning to find an empty table off into the darkest corner of the dining area. The rested their large bags around their feet and seemed to sit stiffly in their chairs, as opposed to most townsfolk who melt after a long day of work.

Daniel screwed up his lips in thought, chewing on the inside of one cheek as he turned from them to trail after his mother.

Swinging the door open to the kitchen, he set his tray down on the wooden table stacked high with ingredients with a sharp clang. “Ma’!” He yelled, startling the kitchen workers around but not her. “Two strangers come burstin’ in here like that and they get free drinks?”

Lucille made a noise low in her throat that was a familiar one when she didn’t want to be bothered. “Sweetheart, I don’t have time for an argument I’ve got biscuits cookin’ up.”

Daniel kept his ground even though her exasperated tone. “They come in here ready for a fight and you’ve got enough time to chat with them? How’s that fair?” He asked, voice cracking in frustration.

“Danny,” she sighed, “please.”

Around them the other workers were frozen in their tasks. Jessica, a kid just like him who liked to help out when she cold, had her hands stilled in a tub filled with soap bubbles. And he face was tight lipped like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know what.

And next to him Mr Miyagi was wiping down a knife blade endlessly. He fixed Daniel with a worried look, his dark eyes seeming to understand. But ever since Miyagi had been coming around to help cook since Daniel’s father died, he doesn’t really talk. And even less often does he get into family squabbles.

Daniel could hear it in Miyagi’s voice to pick his battle, or to always choose peace.

He pouted at his two friends, but knew it was always going to be a loosing battle against his strong willed mother.

The metal tray he had been holding was shoved back into his stomach newly, now filled with two warped iron mugs filled to the brim. Daniel glanced up at his mother’s tired, but full smile. “Take these to them?” She asked. Any anything else went without saying.

Daniel did as he was told, and walked back out to the tables. The vigor of the place was renewed. And the townsfolk continued on unbridled in their loudness.

He walked up to the table the two men were still seated at. The two men, the two hunters. Both hunched over towards the other as if whispering secrets. Daniel vaguely wanted to hear them. To come close enough without being seen to ease drop on their secrets— but frustration still boiled like a cauldron in his chest.

Dropping the tray down on the edge of the table with a loud clanging noise, Daniel laughed at their startled reactions. “Two drinks, free, just as my mother said.” He took one mug at a time off the tray and set them down in front of either man.

“Your mother?” The one with shorter hair, John if Daniel remembers correctly, lifted one brow.

“The Barkeep is your mother, that must make you the young prince of Half Moon?” Terry quipped back. His steel cold eyes flicking towards Daniel.

It caught the air in his throat to feel those eyes on him. Daniel instantly regretted leaning forwards to place the mug in front of the man. He could feel every inch of his skin shiver under the gaze of those cold eyes as they dropped down to examine his throat. Where his linen shirt was hanging open by one lace left untied in Daniel’s morning laziness.

Terry was handsome in his dark hair and his fair skin, the way dirt from the ground clung around his face and made the sharpness of his features even sharper. Yet, Daniel felt afraid. He didn’t enjoy the way it made him feel like a rabbit below a fox.

Then Terry looked back up at his face, at his half parted lips and Daniel’s wide deer like eyes. And a grin that was almost a sneer broke across his lips.

“You believe in the almighty, little prince?” He asked.

Two thin fingers moved without Daniel even noticing they were getting close. They pinched the necklace he always wore draped across his collar bones. Terry lifted the golden cross pendent as far up as it would go. Before Daniel’s neck stopped the chain.

Terry pulled it taughtly towards his own face. He eyed the metal with a hunger. Licking his lips, even. Like if he could stretch Daniel’s necklace far enough he would pop it in his mouth.

“I do, sir,” Daniel forced himself to reply. He was breathless, he had never been under eyes like this. Eyes that made his whole body electric with fear and the want to run. His fingernails carved lines down the side of the table.

The only reason he couldn’t rip himself away was that his chain was close to breaking.

Terry nodded. As if his answer was good. “We are messengers of him, you see. You know this Daniel. You are a clever Prince.”

John spoke up from the side, his bearded face wearing a matching smirk. “If you see any beasts you should tell us, it’s the best thing to do.”

“Say you’ll tell us, then?” Terry spoke in a voice that was an order and not a question. His fist pulling Daniel ever closer to his mouth. “Say you’ll tell us of the beasts that roam this town. Of the shadows that move in the night. Of the creatures that leave filth on your bed—,”

Daniel lifted his own hand to slap Terry’s away. The pendant finally broke free and tumbled back down to lay peacefully at Daniel’s neck.

“I have nothing to say to you!” Daniel breathed heavy.

He spun on his heel and made to leave the tavern. He could hear the empty tray tumble to the ground behind him, but he didn’t stop. He could hear Jessica call out after him, but he didn’t stop.

There was a barn out back of the tavern, warm hay would stop the puttering of his heart, and he needed to get safe inside of it right away.

[bitchin-beskar]

Honorable Intentions

Rating: M 

Word Count: 14.2k holy shit

A/N: Damn. So, this started out as a fun little plot idea and then turned into this absolute monster of a piece. I promise the next thing I work on will be the next chapter in the I See Starlight Series, but this little plot bunny just would not leave me alone. So, here it is, my 14 thousand word one-shot about Oberyn... can I even call it a one-shot? I think it’s at, like, novelette length... 

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

This story is rated M for a rather lengthy sex scene, please only read if 18+

Sighing, you look out at the arena, already bored and the jousts haven’t even started. It isn’t proper for a lady to seem bored however, so you keep your face carefully blank. You glance to your right to see your sister, Lyanna, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the event. She’s always appreciated these events more than you. Lyanna favoured stories of chivalrous knights and charming princes, fantasizing being swept off her feet by the handsome man of her dreams.

You, on the other hand, tended to be more down-to-earth. Yes, you enjoyed stories of knights and princes just as much as any other lady, but you also knew that real life was rarely like the stories. You knew the likelihood of both Lyanna and yourself being married off to your father’s bannermen was high. If you were lucky, you’d be married to lords who weren’t too much older than yourselves, but there were no sureties. 

Your twin was especially excited for this particular event, you knew. Prince Rhaegar would be competing, and Lyanna was entranced by him. Ever since coming to Harrenhal, she’d watched every event he’d completed in, and in your rooms at night, she would talk for hours about him, wondering what he was like. You’d constantly tell her that the Prince was already married, to Princess Elia of Dorne, with a daughter no less, but your words fell on deaf ears. 

Neither of your elder brothers were seated with you. Brandon was recovering from the previous event, and Ned was speaking with some of the sons from Houses Karstark, Hornwood, and Mormont. So, you were left with the ladies from the noble houses of the North and your sister, all of whom were extremely excited for the joust. 

Instead of joining in with the tittering and gossip, you surveyed the arena, taking note of the other Houses present for the joust. You took note of the royals box, with Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia in attendance. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen, and from what you’ve overheard from the maids, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Princess Elia didn’t look pleased to be here, and you supposed you couldn’t blame her. All eyes would be on her if her husband lost the joust, and you didn’t envy her that pressure. 

House Lannister was also in attendance, and you saw the way Cersei Lannister surveyed the stands, much the same as you, although her countenance suggested she felt as though everyone here was beneath her. You were honestly surprised she’d come, especially after being so publicly rejected by Prince Rhaegar previously.

Your eyes skipped over a few other Houses, Baratheon, Tully, Tyrell and Greyjoy, and focused on one particular house. House Martell was seated almost directly across from you, and the box held Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn of Dorne, Princess Elia’s older brothers. You’d first noticed them a few days previously, as your sister’s handmaid had pointed out how attractive Prince Doran was.

While you couldn’t disagree, you however, found your eyes constantly drawn to Prince Oberyn. He was two-and-six, not that much older than your one-and-eight. His beard was neat and trimmed, and his eyes were dark, glittering orbs that seemed to captivate anyone caught in their depths. Despite the warm weather, the Prince wore a rather heavy cloak, and you supposed it must be true, the rumors of the intense heat in the Dornish capital. 

Being from the North, where snow fell no matter the season, the mere thought of a place with no snow or rain was baffling. It was said there were dunes of sand, and much like snow, they stretched on for miles, a solid expanse of singular color. 

As your eyes fell on the box that housed House Martell, Prince Oberyn happened to raise his own gaze, and your eyes connected across the arena. He held your gaze, raising an eyebrow as you refused to duck your head in embarrassment or shame, a sly grin stretching across his lips. You bit one of your own, and found yourself captivated, as you’d often seen others fall victim to the same stare you were now being subjected. 

The sound of the horn signaling the beginning of the joust startled you some, and you reluctantly tore your eyes from the Princes’, looking to the tents where the jousters would emerge from.

“Is everything alright, sister?” 

You looked over at Lyanna, a question clear upon your face. “You’re flushed. Is something wrong?” You raised your hand to your cheek, surprised to feel the skin heated underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m quite alright Lyanna, I suppose I’m just anxious for the jousts to start.”

With a suspicious hum, Lyann turned away from you, focusing her eyes on the tents just as the knights began to emerge. You fought to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Lyanna and the other ladies began to whisper excitedly when Prince Rhaegar stepped forward. 

You watched, disinterested, as the competitors mounted their horses. The Prince made a grand show of mounting his snow white steed, and you wanted to groan when your twin practically swooned. The Prince led his steed around the arena in a trot, and the ladies in your box titered as he rode by. 

The other competitors in the joust were all Kingsguard, and while you were sure they were perfectly competent, you knew the Prince would be winning this competition. Even if he wasn’t an extremely skilled jouster–which you would admit, reluctantly, that he was–it would be suicidal for any of the Kingsguard to win, what with the King’s fragile sanity. 

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen if one of the Kingsguard managed to best Prince Rhaegar, and clearly they didn’t either, for the first of the four went down quickly after the first charge against the Prince. 

Wincing as he hit the ground, you watched as another took his place, only for the same fate to befall him. And again, to the third man. This competition is much shorter than all the others, but even then, you find it exceedingly dull, especially with your sister practically salivating next to you.

Finally, it is the turn of the fourth Kingsguard. The crowd seems to be sitting in anticipation, but you find no such anxieties when the outcome is all but assured. And, sure enough, the final Kingsguard is unseated, and the crowd roars. The Prince gallops around the arena, a show of misplaced pride, and you glance at the Princess Elia, only to see her looking just as unamused as yourself.

“Prince Rhaegar will now present the crown of blue winter roses to his Queen of Love and Beauty!” The voice of the announcer boomed out from his place beneath the royal box, and it seemed as though everyone held their breath, the loud cheers ceasing at once, as the Prince was handed the crown. 

You watched in stunned silence and absolute horror as the Prince rode past the royal box, past his wife, to stop in front of your own box. He reached out, placing the crown on Lyanna’s lap, and you watched, mute, as he gave a stunning smile to your twin sister, which she returned, blushing furiously. 

She held the crown in her lap for a moment, before placing it among her curls, grinning as Prince Rhaegar rode away from the box. Suddenly, the arena burst into noise, members of all the houses shouting over one another at what had just occurred. You watched as Lyanna continued to blush a brilliant red, a smile dancing on her lips, a smile that died as she turned and saw your look of horror. 

Before she could open her mouth, you stood from your seat, leaving the box in a rush. You descended the steps and walked furiously towards the woods behind the arena, sure that if you spoke to your sister, you would be unable to control your temper, and praying to the gods old and new that she would not follow. Unfortunately, the gods did not grant your wish, and you heard Lyanna run after you, stopping you with a hand on your arm.

“Sister! Why did you storm off so? What has gotten into you?”

You spun around to face her. “Me? What’s gotten into me? Lyanna have you lost all sense? Have you gone as mad as the king?” Your voice was an angry whisper, words sharp and biting as her eyes widened. “What in the name of the gods possessed you to accept that crown?” You gestured to the blue winter roses atop her head. 

“Prince Rhaegar named me his Queen of Love and Beauty! Why should I not accept?” Her voice was petulant and whiny, and for a moment, you wondered how it was possible the two of you were the same age, let alone related. 

“Prince Rhaegar is married, Lyanna! He is married to a Princess of Dorne! She has already given him a daughter! You are the daughter of Lord Stark, Warden of the North! You cannot possibly be so foolish as to not understand the consequences of this!” Your voice rose louder and louder until you were practically yelling. “For the Prince to name anyone else other than his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty is a grave insult, for him to so name the daughter of a Great House different than the one he married into is an insult even more so! I would not be surprised if Dorne does not take offence to his actions, and refuse trade with the North!”

Lyanna didn’t look repentant however. “So? We do not need Dorne! We are perfectly fine trading with the other kingdoms, we don’t need them!” You wanted to grab your sister around the shoulders and shake her. 

“We have trade agreements with Dorne, Lyanna! They provide most of the exotic trades for all of fucking Westeros! To destroy the alliance between our houses would be unforgivable, and quite frankly, terrible for our people!” You saw your brothers quickly moving towards the two of you, and you sighed heavily. “You should return the damn crown, and we should leave Harrenhal, and hope that you have not just single-handedly destroyed one of the North’s alliances!” 

You stormed away, and as Brandon tried to stop you, you shrugged him off. “If I continue to speak to my sister, I may smack her. I suggest you attempt to talk some sense into her.” Your words were curt and sharp, and the word sister was spat with contempt and disgust. You continued to storm away, only to see Princess Elia ahead of you, walking with her ladies-in-waiting. 

You sped up slightly, approaching her. “My lady, if I could speak with you for a moment?” Her handmaids eyed you distrustfully, but Princess Elia surprisingly waved them on. She waited until they were out of earshot before turning to you. 

“What can I do for you, Lady Stark?” Her words were perfectly polite, but cold and unemotional. If you hadn’t been looking into her eyes, you would have thought she’d been completely unaffected by what had just occurred. 

“I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for the stupidity and arrogance my sister displayed at the end of the joust, my lady.” It was clear that was not what the Princess was expecting you to say, and her cold, indifferent mask cracked. 

“Oh?”

You sighed, suddenly feeling much older than one-and-eight. “I will not lie to you my lady. My sister has been rather infatuated with your husband since the beginning of the tourney. I have attempted to talk to her on multiple occasions, but she refuses to listen to my council. I am truly very sorry for the pain this may have caused.” You didn’t want to presume any hurt on the part of Princess Elia, but neither were you willing to just let this go unaddressed. “I never could have imagined anything such as this happening, and if there is anything I can do…?” You trailed off once more, once again not wanting to presume anything on her part.

To your surprise, Princess Elia smiled softly. “Your words bring me some comfort Lady Stark. I thank you for the kindness you have shown me. You did not need to speak to me, but you have, and I greatly appreciate it.” 

You shook your head slowly. “I did need to speak with you, my lady. My honor would demand nothing less. I am only sorry my sister seems to possess none.” 

Princess Elia let out a soft laugh at your words, and you briefly found yourself wondering at how Prince Rhaegar could have named anyone but his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty. “Your honesty is refreshing, Lady Stark. Would you care to dine with me this evening? Ladies of your character are few and far between in court it would seem, and I would not be opposed to another friend.” 

Stunned, it took you a moment before you nodded. “Of course, my lady. I only insist that you call me by my name. It seems rather rude to insist upon a friend referring to myself as Lady Stark.” You gave her your name, and she smiled once more. 

“Of course. But I fear I must insist for you to call me Elia.” 

You agreed, and Elia told you that she would have someone stop by your rooms to escort you to her private chambers. You watched as she rejoined her handmaids and continued towards the castle. Hearing the raised voices of your sister and brothers, you sighed, turning back to rejoin the familial argument, your eyes missing the slightly hidden figure observing you. 

***

Later that evening, you were in your rooms awaiting whoever the Princess–Elia–sent to escort you. Brandon had argued fiercely with you, wanting to leave Harrenhal immediately, but you’d argued that if you had the chance to try and repair at least some of the friendship between House Martell and House Stark, you should take it. 

Ned had been quiet, like always, only giving his opinion once directly asked, but surprisingly he agreed with you. Lyanna refused to make comment, sitting forlornly at one of the windows in the solar, glaring at you every so often. She was convinced Prince Rhaegar had fallen in love with her, and it infuriated you beyond belief. You had no idea your twin could be this dense, and it was only made worse when Brandon informed the two of you that your father had decided just before Harrenhal to sign a betrothal between House Stark and House Baratheon. Specifically, between Lyanna and Robert. 

Oh how Lyanna had raged, screaming one second and then crying the next, swearing to the gods that she would never marry that “whoring and uncouth oaf of a man” and that her destiny was to be with Prince Rhaegar. While you understood her desire to not marry Baratheon–you had seen the many, many comings and goings of serving girls from his tents and quarters at inappropriate hours–you knew it was not up to her to decide. Your lord father had always made clear that the two of you were going to be used to strengthen alliances, and you’d thought Lyanna had understood that.

Clearly not. 

A sharp knock resonated from the door to your chambers, and Brandon looked up at you as you moved to answer. “Are you sure–” He barely got the words out before you turned to him in a huff.

“Yes Bran, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Princess Elia, she’s been perfectly cordial, and I am looking forward to dining with her.” You pinned your brother to his seat with a glare, and turned to open the door.

Your eyes widened somewhat when you saw who awaited you. 

“Prince Oberyn,” you greeted, dropping into a small curtsey. You heard your brother’s sharp intakes of breath at your words, and you tried very hard not to smirk. It had always amused you how cautious they were around the famed Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe the stories, oh no, you were quite sure a good many of them were true, you just weren’t afraid of him. Your brothers on the other hand had always been convinced that if you spent more than a few seconds in the Prince’s presence, you’d lose your life. Or your virtue. You weren’t sure which they considered to be worse.

“My lady.” His voice was low and smooth, and fit him perfectly. It took all you had to not react, especially when he raised your hand to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles. His eyes were just as intense as earlier during the tournament, and up close, the strong line of his jaw and the sliver of bare skin on his chest were quite distracting. You hardly noticed when Brandon appeared behind you.

Prince Oberyn gently dropped your hand before greeting your brother. “Lord Stark,” he began, bowing his head briefly. “My sister, Princess Elia, has sent me to escort Lady Stark to her chambers for the evening meal.” 

Brandon nodded jerkily, his distrusting eyes focused on the Prince’s face. “Very well.” His words were forced, as though he spoke through clenched teeth, and oh you wanted to laugh.

Prince Oberyn offered his arm to you, and you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. With a smirking nod at your brother, he began to lead you down the hallway. You flinched somewhat at the loud bang of your door as it closed, and you fought back a grin.

“It seems, my lady,” Prince Oberyn began. “That your brother is rather displeased that I am to be escorting you.” You could hear the underlying question in his words, and you chuckled softly.

“Indeed.” You peered up at him, and his eyes bored into yours. “My brothers are quite convinced I will become your victim, although from poison or licentiousness they can’t seem to decide.” The Prince let out a startled laugh at your words, looking away from your gaze.

“My sister seemed quite eager to dine with you. I promise you are at no risk of any poisons from me this evening.” You raised your eyebrow at what was very clearly not said. 

“And your licentious nature? Am I not also safe in that regard?” You knew it was dangerous to prod a viper, and doubly so to prod this particular Viper. You looked ahead down the hall, even when you could feel his gaze upon you. 

You tried to not show your reaction as his head lowered next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered to you. “I am afraid I can make no promises to you in that regard, Lady Stark.” Before you could retort, you’d arrived at Princess Elia’s chambers. “This is where I leave you, Lady Stark.” Prince Oberyn once more took your hand in his own, pressing a lingering kiss against it. “I will escort you back to your chambers once you’ve finished.”

“Thank you, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you could practically taste the tension in the air. He pressed one more kiss to your knuckles before he turned on his heel and left. You secretly pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, where his lips had just been, and imagined you could still feel the warmth he left behind.

You turned and knocked on the door, almost surprised at how quickly it opened. One of Princess Elia’s handmaids stood to the side, and you entered the room.

You’d spent entirely too long in Elia’s rooms, but you found it hard to care. The Princess was wonderful company, despite being older than you. She had an innocence about her, an innocence that even marriage and a child could not dull. You’d once more expressed your regret at your sister’s actions, and your rage over Prince Rhaegar’s, and Elia spent much of the evening speaking to you of her frustrations with Rhaegar, as she finally found someone just as aggrieved as herself.

You’d been shocked to learn just how hard Rhaegar was pushing for Elia to have more children, despite her daughter having been born not many moons prior. She told you of the prophecy King Aerys was obsessed with, and her fears that she would be unable to provide the third child called for in the prophecy, as she was already pregnant with her second babe. 

You were sworn to secrecy, as no one knew yet of the second pregnancy. The maesters had advised against another child so quickly, but Elia hadn’t had a choice. You listened to her fears, and comforted her as best as you were able. She apologized for burdening you, but you waved her off. You’d found a friend in Elia, one who seemed to truly understand you, and it was no burden at all to support her. 

“When are you to leave Harrenhal?” 

You sighed, setting down the glass of dornish red after taking a sip. “Likely soon. I know my brothers do not wish to stay for long, and with my sister’s actions... “ your voice trailed off. “I fear it would be best for House Stark to go back to the North sooner rather than wait.” 

Elia sighed sadly. “I will miss your presence,” she admitted, turning to look at you. “I know we’ve just met, but you’ve already become such a dear friend. Would you write to me?” You nodded, smiling widely.

“Aye,” you agreed. “Only if you promise to write back.” Giggling, Elia nodded her acquiescence, and she was still giggling when there was a knock at her chamber’s door. 

“Tis likely my brother, here to escort you back,” her words were plain, but the look in her eyes was mischievous. “I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable on the way here?” 

Flushing brightly, you shook your head. “No, Elia. He didn’t do anything of the sort.” She grinned, as though knowing you were lying to her, but she didn’t press. “I’ll take my leave now, my lady.” Your words were cheeky, and Elia grinned, unrepentant, as she stood to offer you a brief hug. 

You left the rooms, and true to her words, found Prince Oberyn standing at the door, waiting for you. “May I escort you, Lady Stark?” His grin was just as mischievous as his sister’s and you were sure your cheeks were still red, and not from the wine. 

“I would appreciate it, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you allowed him to tuck your arm into the crook of his elbow once more, leading you out into the hallway. “I greatly enjoyed my time with your sister.”

You didn’t see the way Prince Oberyn looked down at you with a fond smile. “I am glad, my lady,” he murmured. “Elia has precious few friends in Westeros, and I am glad she has found one as fierce as you.” 

His words caused you to look up at him in confusion, only for him to smirk. “Your argument with your sister was rather loud, and I will admit, it drew my attention.” He paused in front of one of the windows lining the halls, looking at you with an intensity you couldn’t hope to match. “I was rather furious with your House, you see, when Elia was slighted at the joust.” A shadow crossed your face, and he grinned darkly. “I was… pleased to see that at least one member of House Stark also took great offence.”

You flushed, tearing your eyes away from his and stepping away for a moment, looking out the window. “My family likes to pride ourselves on our honor,” you whispered, and the Prince moved closer to hear you. “I could not stand by as my sister acted so dishonorably at the tourney. Mine own honor wouldn’t stand for it.” 

You were surprised to feel his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His lips were next to your ear, and his words caused a heat to rush through your veins. “Indeed, my little shewolf,” his voice was a low growl, and desire pooled in your belly. “And it only makes me want you more.” His lips attacked your neck, sucking directly over your pulse point. Letting out a soft gasp, you sag in the Prince’s arms, one hand over his on your ribs, the other reaching up to tangle in his dark locks of hair. 

He bit at your pulse harshly, before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your legs felt weak from his ministrations, and though you knew he would leave marks upon your skin, you could not bring yourself to care. You gasped suddenly as he spun you around, pressing your back against the cold stone of the palace walls, his hands bringing your wrists up to cross them above your head, leaving you on display for him. He pinned your wrists with one hand, the other tangling in your tresses as he tilted your head up and claimed your lips for his own.

His taste was intoxicating, luxurious and heavenly all at once. His tongue begged your lips for entrance, and once granted, he tilted your head and devoured you. His tongue fought with your own, but his experience was far greater than yours, and he won the duel for domination easily. Pressing the length of his body against yours, you moaned into his mouth, wanton and lascivious and licentious and downright whorish as he took and took and took what he wanted from you. 

You felt as though you couldn’t breath, tearing your mouth from his for a few gasping lungfuls of air, but he dived back in immediately, stealing that air right back. You were breathless, panting as the Prince ground himself into you, unable to do much more than just accept his advances, although you were certainly not going to complain. His lips sought to own yours, and you gladly gave control to him. 

Finally he pulled back, just barely, and his breath ghosted across your spit-slicked lips. “Sweet suffering gods, woman,” he whispered, and you felt a flush of pleasure as you realized what you–you–had reduced the Red Viper of Dorne to. You craned your neck, inviting his lips to touch yours once more, and he gave in with a groan.

You’re not sure how long Prince Oberyn had you pinned against the wall, ravishing your lips like you were a common brothel whore, but you loved every second. You’d kissed a few boys back home in Winterfell, but nothing could ever compare to this. Prince Oberyn was no boy, he was a man, and oh it showed. Your tongues tangled together in an intimate dance, leaving you breathless and gasping for more all the same. 

His hand stayed buried in your hair, anchoring you to him, and you weren’t sure you could escape, even if you wanted to. He finally pulled away, although it seemed to cause him great pain to do so. He was panting softly, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen, dark with a desire you only barely recognized.

“As much as I’d like to continue, little shewolf,” he practically growled at you. “Your lord brothers will be missing you, and I rather think they would be quite cross with us if they found me ravishing you in a palace alcove.” You flushed at his words, blinking up dazedly at the Prince as your heart raced in your chest. 

He groaned softly as you looked up at him, the near-perfect picture of innocence, if not for your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He released your wrists, and you slowly brought your arms down, only to clutch at the front of his tunic. His hand cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip, his eyes darkening as you wrapped your tongue around the digit, pulling it into your mouth and slowly sucking. 

You twirled your tongue around his thumb, delighting at the way his features twisted in pleasure as you were sure he was imagining your mouth on other parts of him. You released him with a wet pop, watching his face as his eyes followed his hand as he trailed it down your chest, before cupping your breast, brushing his still spit covered thumb against your nipple. You whined, the noise high in your throat as he squeezed gently, and if your brothers had come around the corner at that very moment, you weren’t sure you could have stopped, even if you’d wanted to.

But they didn’t, and you panted as the Prince fondled you through the thin gown you wore, watching as he smirked at you before leaning down and taking your breast into his mouth, sucking over the fabric. Your hands flew to his hair, gasping at the sensation. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you never wanted him to stop.

Alas, he pulled away, eying the darkened fabric around your breast with a dark smirk. You whimpered at the loss, and he leaned down to press one, two, three quick kisses to your still swollen lips. 

He stood up straight, offering his arm to you once more, and you took it, flushing. As you continued down the hall, you prayed that you wouldn’t run into any servants, or–gods forbid–nobles. You were sure you looked a right sight, disheveled and thoroughly ravished by the Red Viper. You knew what your brothers would assume if they saw you, so you were very pleased when you arrived at your rooms, and found them to be absent. 

You went to let go of the Prince’s arm and go into your rooms, but he spun you suddenly and pressed you hard against the wood, his thigh wedged between your own. His eyes were still dark with lust, and you felt every inch the prey, nothing like the predator of your family’s House. 

“How irresponsible,” Prince Oberyn tsked as he looked down at you, “of your lord brothers to leave your rooms empty, without so much as a guard. Anyone could be waiting, lurking in the shadows.” His voice was low, and he practically hissed at you, very much reminiscent of the viper for which he was so named. “There could be dangerous men, hiding out, waiting to take the virtue of a young maiden such as yourself.”

You bit your lip, debating with yourself, before letting the words slip from between your lips. “I think there’s only one man here who wants to take my virtue this night, my prince,” you whispered, watching as Prince Oberyn’s jaw clenched tight. You stood on your tiptoes, bringing your lips close to his ear. “And I am inclined to let him.”

The Prince’s reaction was swift, striking at you before you could blink. His arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you flush against his chest before bending you back, his hand tangling in your hair and yanking your head back even farther as his lips claimed yours. You clutched desperately at his shoulders, sure you were falling, but his hold was too tight to prevent such a thing.

You could feel his desire for you, in the way his hands gripped you, the way his lips moved over yours. You pulled back to try to speak, but his mouth chased yours, causing you to speak in broken gasps. 

“M–My… my… my room!” Your hand frantically grasping at the door handle, it swung open, and Prince Oberyn allowed you to straighten only briefly as he shoved you inside, shutting the door and pushing you against it once more. “Y–you… you seem to–to have… a–a passion…” you gasped, moaning brokenly as his hand gripped your hip tightly. “F–For pushing m–me… against things…” 

Prince Oberyn nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as you tried to speak. His lips trailed across your cheek, pressing fluttering kisses against your skin until he could suck at your ear. You moaned, uncaring if you could be heard, focused only on the pleasure this Prince was willingly providing you. 

His fingers danced among the laces of your dress, toying with the ties. “Indeed,” he muttered, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “It’s not often a viper has a shewolf willing to submit to him.” With a sharp tug, the ties come undone, and your dress begins to fall, stopped only by the press of the Prince’s body against yours. 

His head pulls back, eyes locked onto yours as he looks for permission to continue. Taking matters into your own hands, you push onto his chest, causing him to step back, allowing your dress to pool on the floor, leaving you bare except for your smallclothes. You’re flushed at your boldness, but the way Prince Oberyn’s eyes rove over your figure more than makes up for your brief flash of uncertainty. 

He’s well within distance to be able to touch you, and touch you he does, his fingers ghosting over your bare side, trailing up until they run across the fabric of the band covering your breasts. He steps forward until your chests are nearly pressed together, but not quite. 

“May I?” His voice is a whisper, breathy with want as his fingers trace the clasps. His other hand gently brushes against the small patch of wet fabric from his earlier ministrations in the hallways, and your whole body shudders. 

With your nod, he releases the clasp holding the binding together, and gently unwinds the fabric from around your chest. His hands leave your skin long enough to drop the fabric to the floor, but not a second longer, rough fingers coming back to brush against the skin of your breasts, drawing tantalizing shapes and teasing your tender flesh until your nipples harden into peaks. 

You’re unable to stop yourself from gasping at the sensation. Until this very moment the only hands to touch you there were your own, and oh gods the sensations are so, so very different. One of his hands reluctantly leaves your breast, grasping at your hip as he pulls you around, moving you towards the bed. You go willingly, allowing the Prince to move your body as you focus on his fingers, brushing gently over your breast, over and over and–

The air whooshes out of your lungs as you fall back onto the bed, hair fanning out onto the sheets beneath you as your Prince hovers above you, dark eyes trained on yours, watching for any signs of discomfort. But you’re comfortable, more comfortable than you think you’ve ever been before, comfortable laying under this man, being touched by hands you knew had killed, because you knew those hands would show you nothing but adoration. 

He must see something in your eyes, acceptance or some other encouragement, because he dips forward until he can take a nipple into his mouth, suckling, not unlike a babe. Crying out at the sensation, your back arches, pushing your breast into his mouth, and he suckles harder. It feels as though he is trying to draw your very soul out of your body through your breast, but you couldn’t care less. The feeling is heavenly, and the desire that has been simmering in your belly since he first escorted you to Elia’s rooms increases, threatening to overwhelm you with forbidden pleasure. 

Gods, if only your brothers could see you now, writhing underneath the Red Viper, a shewolf willingly submitting to a man not her husband, not even her betrothed, and loving it. Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging this way and that, and with a particularly harsh yank, the Viper above you moans. 

His voice sends streaks of desire racing through your veins, and by the gods, you want to hear that again. You yank once more on his strands, and he actually releases your skin as a groan escapes his throat. Suddenly ravenous, you pull him up to your lips once more, slotting your mouth against his own, and kissing him with a fervor you’ve never experienced before. 

As you moan into his mouth, your hands are busy, tugging at his own tunic, desperate to feel his bare skin against your own. Dornish fashion certainly had the benefit of being able to disrobe quickly, as with one tug of the belt around his waist, his long tunic came apart, and you pushed it off his shoulders, greedily running your hands across the bare expanse of his chest. 

His skin is bare, unlike many of the men of your household. Northmen often grew hair on their chest, but Prince Oberyn’s skin is smooth, unmarred. You rake your nails down his chest and he growls against your lips, fingers gripping the sheets tightly, refraining from touching you as you explore his body. Trailing your fingers down, you find that the Prince is not completely free of hair, as there is a small trail just underneath his navel, leading down into his breeches. 

You run your fingers through the fine hairs, scratching gently, and you can feel the Prince’s muscles tense at your actions. He grabs your wrist and pins it above your head, and you blink up at him innocently. His chest is heaving, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Using your free hand, you guide his lips back to yours, and at the same time, you wrap one leg around his waist, pulling his hips flush to yours.

Moaning into his mouth, you encourage him to grind into you, and Prince Oberyn does so, gladly. His tongue dances with yours, and you can feel the heat of him between your legs, so close, flesh only separated by a few layers of cloth. Breaking away with a gasp, he releases your wrist, only to grasp your smallclothes with both hands, ripping them away from you, the soft fabric tearing at the seams. 

You cry out in shock, not expecting the sudden, violent act, but it does nothing to dampen your desire. The Prince easily lifts you further up the bed, his hands running over your bared skin before clasping the insides of your thighs, holding them apart. He moves down your body, and you’re confused for a moment, unsure of his intentions–

Oh gods.

You can’t even think, not when his tongue is there, not when he’s licking at you like you’re the last source of water on this continent, oh–

“F–Fuck!” 

The curse forces itself from your lips as Prince Oberyn takes your clit between his own lips and sucks. Your back arches, and he quickly winds an arm around your waist to keep you anchored to the bed, to stop you from moving as he laves between your legs. You don’t even try to keep quiet, even though your brothers or your sister could come back at any time, you can’t keep quiet, Prince Oberyn’s tongue feels like nothing you’ve ever done to yourself, it feels incredible–

Your groan pierces the air just as Prince Oberyn’s finger pierces you, and you throw a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure. It’s clear the Prince disapproves of your intentions however, as he begins to pump his finger in and out, setting a brutal pace that just gets more and more intense. Just as you think it can’t possibly feel any better, with his tongue on your clit and his finger in your cunt, he adds a second one, and you’re pretty sure you screamed. 

The Prince chuckles, and the vibrations against your clit only increase your pleasure, the coil in your belly tightening beyond what you thought possible, but it’s when he adds a third finger that the coil snaps. Your hands are clenched in his hair, your hips undulating as much as his iron grip will allow, moans and gasps escaping your lips as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your muscles all tense with the release, and he never stops moving his fingers, doesn’t halt the movement of his tongue until you collapse back onto the bed, panting. He slowly removes his lips from you, but his fingers continue to pump lazily. He looks up at your face, taking in the way your eyes are closed in bliss, your lips parted as little puffs of air escape, desperately trying to catch your breath.

He pulls himself up with one hand, and watches as your eyes open to look at his face, his lips and chin smeared and glistening with your release. He looks so utterly pleased with himself that you can’t help but pull him down, crashing his lips to yours, tasting yourself on him. It turns you on more than you’d thought it might. 

You lazily exchange kisses, tongues slowly tangling together as he continues to gently massage your inner walls with his fingers. His slow movements have only been stoking the fire, not extinguishing it, and you find yourself wanting that release again. You push on his shoulder, and he detaches from your lips with a small frown. He tries to ask you what’s wrong, but you don’t want to talk, so you take control, flipping your Prince over til he’s on his back, and you’re straddling his waist. His fingers are forced from your cunt and you whimper at the loss, but the promise of something more spurns you on. 

You tug at the laces on his breeches as he watches with hooded eyes, hissing as you yank the cloth down his legs and take him into your hands. He’s big, a lot bigger than you were expecting, but the sight excites you. You watch your Prince’s face carefully as you dip your fingers between your legs, moaning as you brush against your sensitive folds, before wrapping your slick fingers around his length. 

Prince Oberyn’s mouth falls open at the sight, his hands clenched so tight on your hips that he’s likely to leave bruises. Oh gods, you want him to leave bruises. You want to be able to feel where his hands clutched at your skin days from now. You slowly stroke him, biting your lip as you wonder if he’ll fit. He barely fits in your hand, and he’s supposed to fit inside you?

You’re distracted out of your musings as he brushes a thumb gently over your hip bone. You look back at him to see his eyes peering up at you, strangely tender despite the desire still lingering. “We don’t have to do this, my shewolf.” His words are a comfort, but you have no intentions of stopping this night.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, watching as his jaw clenches when you run your thumb over the head of his cock. “I want you to fuck me, my prince.” You flick your eyes back up to his, watching as he groans when you curse. “I want your cock in my cunt,” you have no idea where the words are coming from, but you feel so, so powerful as you speak. “My lord father is likely planning my betrothal to some loyal bannerman as we speak.” The Prince watches you, trying to keep his attention on your words and not on your hand wrapped around his cock. “Likely some old widower, who cares not for me or my desires.” You shuffle up the bed, guiding his cock to brush against your cunt. “I do not wish to spend my life never knowing the pleasures of sex, my lord. I know that I will be a vessel for heirs, that is all they will wish of my body.” You slowly begin to sink down, biting back a whine as the Prince’s cock nearly splits you in half. “Even if it is only once, I want a man to fuck me.” 

Prince Oberyn watched you, his jaw slack as you slowly sank onto his cock. He watched your face for signs of pain, but you hid your discomfort well. His eyes flickered down, and the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt, combined with the intense tightness and heat enveloping him, nearly caused him to spill his seed inside of you prematurely, and you could feel the way he clenched his fists in an effort to hold back. 

Finally, your hips were flush with his own, and you gasped for breath at the absolutely overwhelming feeling of being full. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you adjusted to the sheer size of the Prince. Suddenly, you feel fingers gently brushing against your lower stomach and you open your eyes, only to see the Prince staring at you, stunned.

“W–What?” Your voice is quiet, worried something is wrong, but he’s quick to reassure you. 

“Look at you.” 

It’s all he says, the words reverent and awe-struck, and when you finally look down, you see why. His fingers are brushing over your abdomen, where you can actually see the bump of his cock deep inside you. You gasp, your hand covering his as he presses gently, and you feel pleasure shooting down your spine. 

You clench, on accident from the sudden pressure of your hands, and the Prince groans, low and deep as he feels you squeeze around him. “Oh seven hells,” he breathes, head thrown back. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I think it is less a matter of me being tight, my prince, and more that you are just big.” His hand, the one not resting on your belly, comes up to cradle your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. 

“Whatever the cause, you feel divine, sweet girl.” 

You flush at his praise, eyes bright as you look at the powerful man resting between your thighs. You’d never imagined that coming to Harrenhal could lead to this, and you find yourself in awe that the Viper could allow himself to be ridden in such a manner. Most men would not deign to give control over to their women, in any manner, and yet this man has given you more power over him than you’ve ever imagined possible. It’s intoxicating, truly. 

You’d always imagined going to your marriage bed a blushing maid, even though you’d technically lost your maidenhead while riding when you were younger. But this, this act of rebellion–for that’s what it was, a rebellion against all the plans your father had or would ever decide for you–was the one thing you truly had control over, and it delighted you. 

Slowly, you begin to raise your hips, until just the head of your Prince’s cock rests inside you. Pausing, you lean forward and place your hands on his chest for leverage, before slowly lowering your body back down. You both moan at the feeling of once again being fully joined, and thus begins the slow rhythm, the gentle rocking back and forth as you work your inner muscles against his cock. 

You can feel the coil simmering, still tense from your previous release, slowly beginning to tighten again, but slower than you wish. Your Prince must see the frustrations on your face, for he speaks. “You’re doing so beautifully, my shewolf. But I must ask,” his voice is low, dripping with desire. “Do you want more?” 

You suck in a breath, nodding slowly. He searches your eyes, perhaps making sure that this is what you want, before he begins to take control. He plants his feet on the bed, hands gripping your waist tight, and just as you’re about to lower yourself back onto his cock, he surges up, slamming his hips into yours, burying his cock inside you swiftly. 

A silent scream leaves your lips as you throw your head back at the sudden intrusion. You’d thought yourself adjusted to his size, but as he sets a relentless pace, you realize you were not adjusted at all. The wet sounds of skin hitting skin fills the room, punctuated by your pants and moans as your Prince takes you from below. 

He suddenly and abruptly flips the two of you over, and you squeak when your back hits the bed. Yet, his cock never leaves you, and you barely have time to get settled before he restarts his brutal pace, pounding into you. You throw your arms around his neck, raking your nails down his back as he mouths at your breast, his hips never faltering. 

“O–Oh, oh gods, f–fuck.” Your whimpering voice is nearly inaudible, the air in your lungs punched out with every thrust, your words senseless as your mind goes nearly blank from the pleasure. The coil is tightening faster than before, and you feel as though you’ll reach your peak any second.

When the coil snapped for a second time, you dug your nails into the Prince’s shoulders, crying out as he continued to fuck you through your peak. But, to your surprise, he didn’t stop. It took you a moment to realize he was still hard, that he hadn’t spilled yet, and this revelation, along with his relentless movements didn’t allow for your body to come down from the high you’d just achieved. 

“O–Oh, oh, m–my p–prince, I–I can’t,” you were practically sobbing as he slammed his hips against you, over and over, and you feel as though his cock is in your womb he’s so deep inside you. 

But he does not heed your words, does not slow his pace as he chases his own release. “I’m going to ruin you, my little shewolf,” he hisses in your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. “You’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me.” He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust. “When you lay in your marriage bed, and your lord husband takes you, he’s going to know that I was here first. That your sweet little cunt belongs to me, only me.” He circles your clit with rough fingers, and that’s the final push you need to fall over the edge. You come apart, legs shaking with the intensity, crying out into Prince Oberyn’s mouth as his lips take yours. He pulls away, thrusts beginning to falter. “W–Where, sweet girl?” His plea is desperate. “Tell me where.”

“I–Inside!” You gasp, and as he looks at you in shock, you repeat yourself. “Inside, please Oberyn, please!” 

He comes with a violent growl, biting harshly at the skin of your shoulder as he pumps his hips once, twice, before he finally grows still. Despite feeling him grow softer inside you, the feeling of fullness remains. He does not pull out like you would expect, but falls to the side and pulls your sweaty body against his, hand stroking through your hair and down your bare back. 

You lay your hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your palm, racing, but slowing as you lay together. His arms around you are warm and sturdy, and you wish that the two of you could lay here for the rest of your lives. 

Unfortunately, you knew he had to leave before your brothers or sister come back. Brandon and Ned would likely kill the Prince if they thought he’d shamed you in any way, although, could it really be shameful if you wanted it?

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as Prince Oberyn breathed deeply. “I wish I could stay here with you, my love.” His hands toyed with your hair, admiring the way it slid through his fingers. “I am not in the habit of leaving a woman’s bed in the middle of the night,” he admitted softly. “If I could, I would wait til morning comes.”

You pressed your lips against his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rush of his pulse. “I know, I wish you could stay, but I will not ask it of you. It would be too dangerous.” You whisper your words against his skin, closing your eyes tightly against the traitorous tears, but it is no use.

Oberyn must feel your tears against his skin, because he tilts your chin up to press a gentle kiss against your lips. When he draws away, he brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Please, do not cry, my shewolf. I do not wish to cause you pain.” 

You laugh, throat tightening up as you try to stop the flow of tears. “I know this cannot last,” you say softly. “But I wish it did not have to end so soon.” Your Prince’s eyes are sorrowful as they look at you, but the both of you know there is nothing you can do. Your father would never agree to allow you to marry so far south, even for a prince. 

The two of you lay in bed for a few minutes more, pressing gentle kisses upon each other’s skin, trying to memorize as much as you can before Oberyn must leave. 

Before he leaves, he helps you clean up with a wet rag, watching as you pull your shift over your head, eyes dark as he sees the numerous marks littering your skin. He feels a vicious pleasure at seeing the imprint of his fingers at your hips, the bite marks across your chest and thighs. You will hopefully remember his touch for many weeks after this. 

He dresses slowly, allowing you to sit on your bed and watch as inch after inch of bronzed skin is covered up by his tunic and breeches. He’s about to leave, when he turns suddenly, and marches back to where you sit, his hands resting on your neck as he tilts your head up and claims your lips one last time. 

This kiss is different from all the others. The hard press of his lips conveys his sorrow and regret at leaving you like this, his fingers tightening on your skin to keep you still underneath him. Your mouth is pliant under his, letting him lead you in one last dance of passion and desire. When he breaks away, there are tears in his eyes, and you cup his cheek. 

“I will never forget you, my Viper of Dorne.” 

“Nor I you, my Shewolf of Winterfell.”

***

You were such a fool.

You’d woken up the next morning when Brandon had burst into your room, demanding to know if you’d seen Lyanna. He’d blushed when he’d seen you were still abed, but the worry clear on his face caused you to ignore the fact that he’d entered your private chambers without permission. When you’d told him that you hadn’t seen her since you’d left for Princess Elia’s chambers, he stormed out of your room, causing you to grab a dressing gown and rush out after him.

You found Ned, sitting in a chair, head in his hands, and Brandon was pacing frantically back and forth. When you demanded to know what was going on, Ned looked at you, and you were shocked to see tears in his eyes. You rushed forward, falling to your knees before your brother, taking his hands in yours and begging to know what happened. 

“Lyanna’s been kidnapped.”

Eyes wide, you stared at Ned, mind blank as you tried to understand the words he’d said. You whipped your head around to look at Brandon, and the desolate look on his face told you all you needed to know. “Who? Who took her?” 

Ned’s sorrow turned to anger. “The Silver Prince,” he spat. “Rhaegar Targaryen stole away with her in the night.” You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips, and both of your brothers stared at you, confused. 

“This isn’t a jape, a servant saw Rhaegar riding away with Lyanna on his steed, this is an act of war!” Brandon yelled, and you laughed bitterly, standing and turning to face him.

“Trust me on this, brother.” Your voice was cold, your previous panic and concern gone. “Prince Rhaegar committed no crime. Lyanna went with him willingly.” Your brothers both began to protest, but you held up your hand. “She has been smitten with him since we arrived. I told you that you should have dealt with her obsession, but you didn’t listen.” You sighed, dropping into a chair. “She was furious when you told her of her betrothal to Robert Baratheon. There is no doubt in my mind that she went with him willingly.” 

Brandon sighed deeply. “It won’t matter if she went with him or if he kidnapped her. House Baratheon will not take this lying down. Robert has already declared that he will gather his men to march on the capitol.” You covered your mouth in shock.

“He didn’t ever speak with her and he’s willing to attack the Mad King, just to get Lyanna back? Is he insane?” You weren’t surprised, if you were being honest with yourself. You’d seen the lusty gaze of Robert on both you and Lyanna throughout the tourney.

Ned winced. “He loves her,” he protested, but the words sounded hollow, and you could tell he thought so too. You knew Robert didn’t love Lyanna. He lusted after her, there was no doubt, but it wasn’t love. But now that she was gone, he felt slighted, and wanted revenge. Sometimes she hated that she’d been born a girl, destined for men to sell her like cattle. She didn’t doubt that there would be war, and that her family would be right in the middle of it all. 

Brandon stood, and she could see the tension throughout his frame. “Pack your bags, sister. You’ll leave with Ned for Winterfell as soon as possible. I need to write father, as I’ll be staying here, rallying the Houses in our alliance.” Ned began to protest, but Bran cut him off. “No, Ned, I need you to go to Winterfell, you have to protect her,” your brother’s voice was quiet, but you could hear it break as he looked at you. Standing, you rushed into his arms, burying your face in his chest as Brandon wrapped his arms around you, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in your hair. 

You’d never seen your brother this scared, and it silenced any and all protests you might’ve had. You’d dressed quickly, and as soon as your things were packed, you were on your way back to Winterfell. The trip took just under two days, and by the time you arrived, your father was just about to leave. He explained that Brandon had arrived in King’s Landing, only for King Aerys to take him hostage when he demanded Rhaegar return Lyanna. Lord Stark was going to King’s Landing to get his son and heir back, and that meant that Ned would be the acting Warden of the North.

Rickard Stark ordered you to stay inside, terrified that you would be taken next. You tried to argue, but your heart wasn’t in it. You knew how it looked, the Prince of Westeros kidnapping the daughter of the Warden of the North and the betrothed of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The North and the Stormlands would not let this insult go without punishment. But with the King’s madness, you were terrified for the safety of your father and eldest brother. You watched him leave, a pit in your stomach as you felt with a grim certainty that this would be the last time you saw your father.

When word arrived that Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Brandon Stark had been put to death by the Mad King, you were in Ned’s solar with him. You collapsed in shock and horror as the maester read the missive sent by King Aerys, demanding Ned and yourself present at King’s Landing, along with Robert Baratheon. You clutched at Ned as he cradled you in his arms, sobbing as he promised you that he’d never let the Mad King touch you, that he would get revenge for your family. You begged and pleaded with him to not go, but he told you that he didn’t have a choice. Jon Arryn was calling the bannermen to arms, and they were going to march on King’s Landing. 

For the first two moons of fighting, you moved through Winterfell as a ghost. You spoke little, rarely leaving your rooms, and the only one you spoke to on any regular basis was your little brother, Benjen. You knew there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and you tried to help run the household as best you could, but your mind constantly wandered, worrying about your brother, and the attacks. You even worried about Lyanna, despite your anger at her. 

You wrote somewhat regularly with Princess Elia, who told you of how she was being held in King’s Landing by King Aerys, to force Dorne to fight for the crown. Queen Rhaella protected her as best as possible, but now that she was showing, the King demanded she be kept guarded at all times. Your letters were disguised as being those written by a lady in the court in Sunspear, so that Elia couldn’t be accused of aiding the enemy. 

At the start of the third moon after the beginning of what they were calling Robert’s Rebellion, you noticed that you were feeling sick with alarming regularity. You had a hard time keeping food down, and you were tired often. You wrote of your sickness in your letters to Elia, and all she could tell you was that your sickness sounded similar to how she felt when she was pregnant with Rhaenys. 

And that’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t drunk moon tea after your night with Oberyn. 

You wanted to hit yourself. You knew that he had a history of lying with women for a night, only for them to get with child. Gods, he had three bastards that he’d claimed, and who knew how many others could possibly be out there across Westeros and Essos. You lay a hand against your stomach, and noticed it felt firmer, hardened. You stared at the letter from Elia, the words seeming to float off the page. You were with child, Oberyn’s child. 

You’d never imagined that any child of yours would be a bastard. You parents had told you often while growing up that you would marry some lord, to strengthen one alliance or another. You knew you’d be required to provide heirs. You’d thought about your future children with little fondness, knowing that you’d never love their father, and that they’d either be heirs or sold to other lords to forge yet more alliances. 

But now that you were with child? A bastard child no less? You knew how Ned would react. He would be furious. You found yourself with a small sense of relief that Ned was off fighting, so that you might have time to figure out what to do. You knew if you asked the maester, he would give you a medicine to remove the child from your womb, but you didn’t want that. You couldn’t deny the excitement you felt at the idea of having a child with equal parts of you and Oberyn. 

You decided to keep the child a secret as long as possible. The fewer who knew of your condition, the safer your babe would be. 

***

The Mad King was dead. Prince Rhaegar was dead. Robert Baratheon was victorious over the armies of King’s Landing. You’d been summoned to the capitol, and Ned had sent word that he would be on his way as well, from the Tower of Joy. You were confused as to why your brother had been in Dorne, but didn’t press for answers. His letters had been getting shorter and shorter as of late, and you didn’t know why. 

You didn’t know how, but you’d managed to keep the fact that you were with child a secret throughout the entirety of your pregnancy. You hardly showed, and you knew it had to be a sign from the gods, that you had done the right thing in not telling anyone. Your sickness had been easily explained away, and your tiredness was blamed on the loss of your father and brother.

But you were scared. As you arrived at the capitol, you knew you could give birth any day now, and giving birth in King’s Landing would be extremely dangerous. Robert Baratheon held no love for the Dornish, like most of Westeros, but the fact that Rhaegar had been rumored to have fled to Dorne with Lyanna ignited Robert’s temper.

As you walked into the throne room, you were shocked to see Elia, kneeling and in chains in front of the Iron Throne. Little Rhaenys was chained as well, and baby Aegon, not even half a year old, was in his crib, with a Kingsguard standing over him, weapon drawn. Robert was sitting on the throne, anger making his cheeks turn a ruddy color, and Ned stood next to him, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

Running forward, you fell to your knees by Elia, ignoring the shouts of the men around you as you drew Rhaenys into your arms, shielding her as best you could. Elia looked shocked to see you, and you could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. 

Whipping your head around, you glared viciously at Robert and your brother. “What is the meaning of this?” Your voice carried around the room, the tone as cold as a Northern winter. Robert and Ned looked at you, stunned. “I said, what is the meaning of this?!” You yelled, watching as your brother flinched.

But it wasn’t him who spoke. “The former princess and her children have been charged with crimes against House Stark and House Baratheon.” Jon Arryn swallowed harshly as you turned your glare on him. “They are to be put to death.”

You gasped, and Elia let out a sob next to you. You looked wildly from Robert to Ned and back to Robert. “What crimes could they have possibly committed? I was under the impression that hostages of war are not held accountable for the actions of their captors!” Your brother tried to speak but you would not let him. “You won the fucking war! Let it end! Peace has been brought back to Westeros, do not start this new era with the death of an innocent woman, a small child and a babe!” 

“INNOCENT?” Robert roared, standing from the throne. “YOU WOULD CALL THEM INNOCENT? THEY’RE THE FAMILY OF THAT SILVER HAIRED BASTARD!” You saw your brother trying to frantically shush Robert, but he would not be quieted. “THE SAME BASTARD WHO KILLED YOUR TWIN SISTER! YOU DARE CALL THEM INNOCENT?”

Robert stood, chest heaving as he looked around the room. When his eyes landed on you, he took a step back. You were still kneeling, a look of shock on your face, tears in your eyes. 

Fuck.

You hadn’t known.

Ned hadn’t told you of Lyanna’s death.

Faintly you heard Elia speaking to you, whispering frantically, apologizing over and over, swearing to the gods Old and New that she hadn’t known, that she’d had no idea Rhaegar had killed her, that she was so, so very sorry–

You cut her off with a hug, clinging to her dirty gown as you shook silently. Only Elia had known all of the emotions you’d run through during Lyanna’s disappearance. Only Elia had known that no matter how much you were mad at her, that you couldn’t hate your sister. That even though she’d been the catalyst to throw Westeros into war, you loved her still.

“You didn’t know.”

Robert’s voice was quiet, and you slowly pulled away from Elia to look at him. You were sure you looked a sight, tears in your eyes, an angry scowl upon your face. “No, Lord Robert, I did not know of my sister’s demise. Thank you, for informing me.” Your voice was thick with sarcasm, and you could see both men wince at your tone. “But if you think for one second that I would ever blame Elia and her babies for Lyanna’s death then you are as mad as King Aerys was!” 

Ned’s eyes widened, and Robert stumbled back, sitting heavily on the throne as he stared at you. You were wrapped protectively around Rhaenys, glaring at the new king and your brother. You knew that your words could spark another conflict, but you would not sit back while Elia and her children burned for Rhaegar’s mistakes. You couldn’t. 

“Exile.” 

You looked at your brother, surprised. He looked surprised at himself, but when Robert made a confused noise, he continued. “Exile Elia and her children to Dorne. If her children swear to abdicate any right to the Iron Throne, they will be no threat to your rule. My sister is right, Robert.” Elia began sobbing anew at Ned’s words, but they were tears of hope. “Do not start your rule by executing a woman and her children for the crimes of her husband. Lyanna wouldn’t want that.” 

It was Ned’s final sentence that seemed to break Robert out of his stupor. “Y–Yes, your right, as always Ned,” he muttered, and you dared hold your breath in hope. “Exile. They will be put on the first ship to Dorne. Elia Martell, you will forfeit on behalf of your children their right to the Iron Throne, and when they each reach the age of one-and-ten, they will reaffirm their forfeiture of the Iron Throne.” 

It took Elia a moment to be able to speak, her voice breaking. “I so swear it, my lord,” she said, bowing her body, her nose almost touching the floor. “My children forfeit their right to the throne, and we will remain in Dorne for the rest of our days, my lord.” 

There was a clanking as little Rhaenys tugged on your dress, trying to get your attention. You looked down at her, not noticing as the room fell silent around the two of you. 

“I don’ want it,” the little girl’s voice was quiet, and she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. “‘M sorry, I don’ want the.. the…” She trailed off, little brow scrunching up as she tried to finish her sentence. 

“Throne? You don’t want the throne, sweetheart? Is that it?” She nodded vigorously, and the rattling of the chains around her wrists as she shook in your arms made you flinch. “See, your highness? Rhaenys has declared she doesn’t want the Iron Throne. Is that enough for you?” Robert nodded weakly, gesturing for one of the Kingsguard to unchain Elia and Rhaenys. You hovered protectively, glaring at the guard, you thought it might have been Jaimie Lannister, when he was too rough in the handling of the former princesses. 

As soon as Elia was unchained, she scooped Aegon into her arms, cradling him protectively to her breast. She bowed low, still shaking with fear, before Robert ordered one of the Kingsguard to escort her and her children to the docks. Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward, gently laying a hand against Elia’s back as he began to lead her out. You went to follow, still hovering by Rhaenys, when Robert called for you to stay behind. You stopped, and Elia turned, nodding at your worried glance, telling you to stay behind. You nudged Rhaenys forward, before turning back to your brother and Robert.Robert looked uncomfortable as you continued to glare at him, and you finally turned to Ned for answers as to why you’d been asked to stay back. 

“It was suggested…” Your brother looked just as uncomfortable as Robert. “That since Lyanna is… gone, the best way to show our support of Robert’s reign would be to join the two of you in marriage.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two men as neither of them would meet your eyes. As your eyes fell on Jon Arryn, you realized that he must have been the one to suggest it, as neither your brother, nor Robert would have come up with marriage being the best way to join your houses. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed at plotting the marriage between the new king and the twin sister of his newly-dead betrothed. 

“Absolutely not.” Your eyes bored holes into Jon Arryn’s, refusing to back down, as would have been proper for a lady of your station. “I will not marry Robert Baratheon, now or ever. House Stark has lost more to this rebellion than any other of your allies, we have given enough. Now if you excuse me, I am going to say goodbye to Elia, as I will likely never see her again.” 

You turned abruptly, storming from the throne room, and almost immediately, you ran into Lord Howland Reed. He was standing outside the throne room, holding a bundle in his arms. You stopped, surprised, and before he was able to hide the bundle, you saw what he was holding. 

A babe. 

A babe that looked like Lyanna. 

Eyes wide, you grasped him by the arm and began to drag him with you as you continued out of the keep. “Lord Reed, whose babe is that?” You asked, almost afraid of the answer. He glanced at you cautiously, and you gripped his arm tighter. “Whose. Babe. Is. That?” 

He sighed, looking around before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “When we found Lyanna, she had just given birth to Rhaegar’s child. She died soon after, but not before making Lord Stark promise to protect him.” 

You stumbled. Lyanna? Pregnant? You clasped a hand over your mouth, and you feared you were going to be sick. And the fact that Rhaegar was the father? If Robert had wanted to kill Rhaenys and Aegon, just for being Rhaegar’s children, what would he do to this babe? You knew Robert would never accept that Lyanna had gone with Rhaegar willingly, and if he thought Rhaegar had raped her? He would kill this babe. You knew it. 

“How does Ned expect to explain him to Robert?” 

Lord Reed sighed. “Lord Stark plans to tell the King that the babe is his bastard–” You cut him off with a laugh. 

“Ned? With a bastard? My brother must be insane,” you muttered. “The whole realm knows of the honor of House Stark, my brother the most of all. No one will believe he broke his marriage vows and sired a bastard.” You stopped, and held your arms out, gesturing for Lord Reed to give you the babe. “I will take him.” 

Lord Reed looked at you, confused. “My lady, no one will believe him to be yours, I–” you cut him off once more, mind racing as you thought through your half-baked plan. 

“People will more readily believe I gave birth to two bastards than Ned having just the one.” Lord Reed’s eyes widened, and they flickered down to your stomach before he flushed in embarrassment. “I will ride with Elia to Dorne. They are more accepting of bastards there, and while I will miss Ned and Benjen, it is difficult to stay in Winterfell when the rest of my family has perished. Please, give me the babe.”

Lord Reed handed you the child, and you looked down at the sleeping babe, his features thankfully purely Lyanna. “What’s his name?” Lord Reed winced.

“Lyanna named him Aegon.” 

You frowned, anger coursing through you. How dare she? How dare your sister name her bastard the same name as Rhaegar’s trueborn son? You were sad at her passing, but the more you learned about what she’d done, the angrier you became. “Please explain to Ned what I’ve done. Tell him I will send a raven once I’ve reached Dorne. I do not wish to have contact with him until then.” At Lord Reed’s questioning glance, you sighed heavily. “His part in this war has angered me greatly. I need some time before I am able to speak to him rationally.” 

Lord Reed nodded, and proceeded to escort you the rest of the way to the docks. When you reached them, you saw Ser Barristan, and quickly asked him which ship Elia was on. As he pointed it out to you, you curtsied to the men quickly, before rushing to the gangplank.

Elia was standing on the deck, and as she saw you approach, she rushed to meet you. When she saw the child in your arms, her confusion only grew, but you begged her to allow the ship to leave before you explained.

***

“What is going on? Why did you come with me? And where did the babe come from?”

Elia had been patient, explaining to the captain the change in circumstances, and waiting until nightfall to interrogate you. But now that the two of you were alone, with Rhaenys, Aegon, and Lyanna’s babe sleeping next door, she wanted answers. 

“They wanted me to marry Robert, Elia. I couldn’t marry him, I refused.” Elia nodded in understanding. She wouldn’t want to be married to him either. “As for the babe? I’m so sorry, but he’s Lyanna’s son.” 

Elia looked confused for a moment before she realized what you meant. Gasping, she threw her hands over her mouth, shock in her eyes. “H–He’s… he’s Rhaegar’s son, isn’t he?” You nodded, and she let out a small sob. “I–I never thought…” 

“I didn’t think either of them capable of it either, Elia. I’m so sorry. I’m going to raise him as my son, as my own bastard.” 

Elia shook her head frantically. “No! No, you can’t! That will ruin you, I know how they view bastards in Westeros. Your honor–” You smiled sadly. 

“My honor will be besmirched any day now, Elia,” you told her softly, grasping her wrist and bringing her hand to rest against your stomach. “I will raise Lyanna’s son as my own, as a twin to my own bastard, and no one will know the difference. Besides,” You watched as her eyes widened when she felt your babe kick. “Mine own babe’s father is in Dorne.” 

It took her a moment to realize what you had said, but you could tell when she did. She gasped loudly, eyes flying between your own and your stomach, before she swore. “Oh seven hells,” she groaned, and you laughed softly. “It’s my brother’s, isn’t it? It’s Oberyn’s.” When you nodded, she groaned again. “I should have known, especially when you wrote about being sick! Oh, I’m going to kill that man!” 

“Please don’t!” You replied, laughing. “I rather like him, as it turns out.” You blushed as Elia smirked at you. 

“I should force him to marry you,” she replied, looking at you critically. “I’d rather like having a sister, and it’s the honorable thing for him to do.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t care about marriage. So long as he is willing to love his son or daughter, I will be happy,” you paused, thinking for a moment. “I do not expect him to love Lyanna’s babe, but as long as he respects my decision to raise him as my own, I think I can live with that.”

Elia looked pensieve. “I think he will be willing to overlook the babe’s parents. And if he doesn’t, well I can always smack him around.” The two of you laughed, giggling on the bed like a pair of young maidens, and everything was right with the world, just for a moment. “What will you name him? Lyanna’s son, I mean?” 

You looked at her thoughtfully. “Jon. Jon Snow will be his name.”

***

You had hoped to arrive in Dorne before you gave birth, but the gods had other plans. Your water had broken one night, and Elia had called for the maester immediately. She’d stayed by your side the entire night, and after you gave birth, she was the one who handed your daughter to you. You looked down at her, and you could already tell that she was a perfect blend of your features and Oberyn’s. Her little eyes were scrunched shut, but when you held her against your breast, she latched on, clearly hungry. You had decided that you wanted to nurse your babe early on in your pregnancy, and when Jon had come into your life, you decided to nurse him as well. 

As your daughter gently suckled at your breast, Elia came over, carrying Jon. You looked up at her, tired and sweaty, but overjoyed to finally be holding your daughter in your arms. 

“What will you name her?” 

You barely even had to think, as you had picked a name moons prior, and looking at your daughter, you knew it was perfect. “Sarella. Sarella Snow.” Elia cooed softly, stroking the soft hair on her head as she drank from your breast.

“A beautiful name. But are you sure she should be a Snow and not a Sand?” 

You shook your head. “I want her to have a connection to the North, no matter how small. She is my daughter, and I am still a direwolf of House Stark, no matter where I reside.” Elia nodded in agreement, taking Sarella from you as she finished feeding, placing both babes on the bed next to you.

“We’ll be arriving in Dorne in a few days. I sent a letter ahead to Doran and Oberyn, so they know to meet us, but they do not know you are with me.” You looked at Elia, and she continued. “I figured my brother does not know of his daughter, and I assumed you wanted to be the one to tell him.”

You nodded. “Indeed. Thank you, Elia.” She left to allow you to get some rest, and you closed your eyes, knowing that your children were safe next to you.

***

You stood on the deck of the ship, watching as Sunspear came into view. Elia had come to get you a few minutes prior, telling you that you would be docking soon. You held both your children in your arms, Elia held Aegon, and Rhaenys stood between the two of you. As you got closer to shore, you could feel your pulse beginning to speed up, especially when you noticed the two Princes of Dorne standing on the docks, awaiting your arrival.

Elia lay a hand upon your arm. “Are you nervous?”

You laughed shakily. “Of course. I’d be mad if I wasn’t, I should think.” Elia squeezed your arm gently, and you smiled at her, thankful. 

You could tell the minute Oberyn recognized you on board. You were close enough to see him physically react, grasping at his brother’s arm. You smiled, hoping he could see. You watched him as the ship pulled into port, gasping when he didn’t wait for the gangplank, instead he jumped, grabbing onto the ladder on the side of the ship. You stepped back, watching as he rose over the side of the ship, jumping over the railing and striding towards you, only to fall short as he realized what you were holding. 

He stood in front of you staring intently at the babes in your arms, before his eyes raised to yours, the question clear. You took a small step forward, face deadly serious as you watched his reactions to your words. “This,” you said, gesturing as best you could, “is your daughter, Sarella.” You allowed him to slowly take Sarella from you, watching as he looked down at her, an expression of adoration clear on his features. 

“And this,” you continued, drawing his eyes to the other babe in your arms. “Is my son, Jon.” You could tell he was confused, and you took a deep breath. “He is mine, in name and heart, and even partially in blood. My twin may have given him life, but he is mine son, and I will not allow anyone to take him from me.” 

You waited with bated breath, for Oberyn’s reaction. You watched the emotions flicker across his face, confusion, understanding, then anger, and finally, acceptance. He raised Sarella up, pressing his lips against her forehead, before striding towards you, his hand not currently holding your daughter coming up to rest against Jon’s back, looking down at him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s forehead as well, and tears sprang to your eyes. 

Oberyn looked at you intently, and you couldn’t look away. 

“I think you must be confused, my love,” he began, his voice soft. “This is our son, Jon. He is our son, in name and heart and blood. You have given me two beautiful children, my shewolf. And I would take you for my wife, if you’ll have me.”

You gasped softly, somehow surprised, despite Elia’s reassurances that Oberyn would not reject you or Jon. Nodding, you smiled at your prince, the father of your children, and as he pressed his lips against yours, you felt peace for the first time in a long time.

Tagging, as promised: @din-damn-djarin, and @chibi-liz05​! (And @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​!!)

[hopelesshawks]

Official Accounts Part 30 (Bakugo Route)- The Past

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Masterlist

You knock on Katsuki’s door and it opens almost immediately. “Sorry about this,” you tell him by way of greeting. “I already told you idiot,” Katsuki replies in the soft voice he’s always reserved just for you, “you’re always welcome at mine.” He closes the door behind you and then pulls you into a hug. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks. You think for a long moment. Do you? How do you even go about explaining what just happened between you and Hawks without revealing secrets that aren’t yours to share? But you deserve to talk this out too. “I do I just need a second to organize my thoughts,” you finally say. “Ok how about you take a seat on the couch, I can heat up ramen for you, then when I come back you can tell me all about it,” he offers. “Homemade ramen?” you ask. “Obviously, dumbass,” Katsuki says with a roll of his eyes as he gently removes himself from your arms and then pushes you towards the couch. “Now go sit down,” he insists. You nod and give him a small thanks before heading to his living room.

By the time Bakugo returns with the promised ramen you’ve wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and made yourself comfortable on the couch. You open your arms wide in a silent request for Bakugo to join you. Although he rolls his eyes as if put upon, it secretly makes his heart melt a little that you find comfort in his touch. He sits down careful not to spill the bowl he holds in one hand before passing it to you. He then pulls you closer until you’re almost in his lap and re-situates the blanket around you both. He’s missed this. You’ve always been very cuddly with all of your friends, but for awhile after you two broke up it felt like he’d lost his privileges. Even after you opened back up to him it was never quite the same. Sure when you were upset you knew you could rely on him, but the casual intimacy you shared with Denki and the rest of your friend group had been lost to Bakugo. It was only fair. That casual platonic intimacy was a little too close to the romantic intimacy the two of you had shared when dating. You’d thought it best not to indulge lest you fall back into old habits.

He still remembers the break up like it was yesterday even though it was almost 5 years ago now. It was only a year after graduating from UA. The transition from high school to working life had been hard on your relationship. Bakugo had grown accustomed to seeing you every day during lunch and you’d frequently come to the class a dorm after classes. To go from that to barely seeing each other because of your differing work schedules was hard enough on its own but it also threw his jealousy into overdrive. Suddenly seeing you and Denki curled up on your couch for a movie was enough to have him raging even though he logically knew there was no intent behind it. He was more irritable than usual, his already short temper getting even shorter. It felt like the few times you did get to see each other there was always an argument. Eventually you’d called him after work one day and simply sighed “We need to talk after your shift is over.” It hadn’t even occurred to him that you’d want to break up and yet when he arrived at your place you promptly told him that you feared the relationship was already sinking. Continuing it, you had argued, could do nothing but drag your friendship down with it. He wanted to say you were wrong so badly but he knew you weren’t. So the two of you had ended things, slogged through a few months of it being awkward, and eventually returned to a sense of normalcy in your friendship.

All of that said, Bakugo has never quite gotten over you.

It comes and goes in waves. Most days it’s just an ignorable, dull ache, only painful if prodded. Other days though? Other days the regret is almost overwhelming. Those are the days he calls Deku. The first time he did it was a week after the break up. He probably never would have if not for the fact he was damn near blackout drunk and sad and so very alone in an apartment filled with things that reminded him of you. He had barely talked to Midoriya since graduation, so Deku was understandably confused when he got the call. “I miss her so much,” Bakugo had slurred miserably down the line. It didn’t take a genius to know who he meant and Midoriya had quickly put two and two together that you and him had broken up. “I’m sorry,” was all Midoriya had time to say before Bakugo hung up the phone. That was supposed to be the only time. In fact Bakugo stubbornly refused to call him in the days following that initial call, despite being tempted to several times. Eventually though he caved. He needed to talk to someone about all this. Keeping it pent up was eating away at him but he couldn’t exactly talk to his usual friends about it when all of them were just as close with you. So Deku was his only option. Not only that but Deku was a good option. It didn’t matter how angry or upset Bakugo was, Midoriya was always patient and sympathetic. Sometimes they’d be on the phone for over an hour. Sometimes the call would be as brief as that fateful first one had been. Regardless, it helped. Soon enough the frequency of the calls started to dwindle until they stopped altogether.

Then Hawks asked you to run his Twitter.

At first it was fine. For all Mina’s jabbering on you seemed insistent you didn’t see Hawks that way. But then everyone else was getting in on the action as well and it all just spiraled from there. The night you went on your date with Hawks was Bakugo’s first time calling Midoriya in nearly a year. He texted the group chat confirming that Hawks getting shifts covered for you was indeed a big deal and then immediately afterwards was scrolling for Deku’s contact. You hadn’t dated anyone since Bakugo and while he knew it would happen eventually the reality hurt way more than all the hypotheticals he’d come up with over the years ever did. By now Midoriya knew the drill so he didn’t say anything when he answered the phone, just waited to see where Bakugo would take the conversation. He was not expecting an invitation to grab drinks.

It was odd seeing each other for personal reasons again after so many years. Their only interactions outside of the phone calls had been through work, a stark contrast to the crowded bar they now found themselves in. They started with awkward small talk, as one does with old friends they’ve barely seen, but eventually they started to really talk and Bakugo realized that all of those times he’d talked to Midoriya on the phone not once had he stopped to hear about his life. So he tried to make up for it then, even if it was a little too late. It was kind of nice. Maybe in another life where Bakugo had been a different kid, one who would’ve taken Midoriya’s hand when he fell, one who was a little less cruel, they could’ve been best friends. “So what happened with (y/n) this time?” Midoriya finally asked and it’s a question Bakugo had both wanted and dreaded to answer. “She’s going on a date with Hawks tonight,” Bakugo sighed. “Good for her,” Midoriya had noted and immediately Bakugo’s grip tightened around his drink. “You know it is good for her right?” Midoriya asked. “I know it is. That’s why it hurts so bad,” Bakugo admitted. It occurs to Bakugo now that perhaps that is why he’s been pushing Hawks to do better by you.

He knows intimately the pain of loving you and then losing you.

He wouldn’t wish it on anyone else.

So he listens to you recount your fight with Hawks. He listens with full attention until you run out of steam. When he gives you advice he gives it as a friend, not as an ex or as the man still in love with you. He gives you advice the way he thinks Deku would. He gives you the kind of advice you’d offer him if the situation were reversed. And it hurts and hurts and hurts to know his advice might push you back into Hawks’ arms, but when you pull yourself closer to him, sigh “Thanks Katsuki,” and then promptly fall asleep on his chest, he knows it’s worth it.

Because he loves you.

God, how he loves you.

Author’s Note: I BROKE MY OWN HEART WITH THIS ONE SO NOW YALL CAN BE HEARTBROKEN WITH ME. Anyway I adore the headcanon that Bakugo is a really good cook and I wanted there to be a slight parallel to how (y/n) and Hawks would have tea together but upon googling ramen recipes I realized it would be incredibly unrealistic for Bakugo to make homemade ramen in the time it takes (y/n) to get from her place to Bakugo’s. So instead he reheats what’s leftover from cooking dinner for himself, which I also googled to confirm was possible (it is you just need to make sure you store all the components separately). ALSO writing in Midoriya was a lot of fun. As much love as I think Midoriya and Bakugo have for each other I could very easily see them as being distant after graduation but still knowing they could reach out to each other if need be.

Taglist [open]: @maltese-sparrow @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @captaincyberqueen @ladyzayismultifandom @pixelwisp @cathy8taffy @itskindofafairything @larkspyrr

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XXX

A/n: Some unnecessary drama in this chapter, but I wanted to make it more interesting. Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis went their separate ways, wishing to not discuss their feelings on what happened at Zegnautus Keep and how Noctis was absorbed into the Crystal.

Instead of heading to Lestallum like his friends, Prompto departed for Hammerhead after they returned to Lucis. He figured Cindy would allow (Y/n) to stay there until she regained consciousness. The mechanic was more than happy to let the girl stay in the bed located in the back room connected to the garage.

But now, that was three months ago. Prompto spent most of his time in Hammerhead, taking up whatever hunts he could with fellow hunters. After a job was complete, he'd return to the outpost and visit (Y/n) in hopes to find her awake. Even Cindy would pay her visits from time to time.

Unfortunately, she remained in what was almost an eternal slumber. He had time to think about the words Brahma spoke to him and was able to understand why she was in such a state. She wouldn't awaken until Noctis returned.

Although she was perfectly safe and healthy, his heart ached. He wanted her to wake up and help him through the darkness that now engulfed every corner of Eos. He was beginning to lose his mind without her by his side.

Today, Prompto had finished slaying a horde of iron giants and imps with a few hunters. He returned to Hammerhead and ate a quick meal before going to see the slumbering (Y/n).

He entered the small room located in the back of the garage and sat down in the comfy chair beside the bed. He leant forward, reaching a hand out to take one of hers. He could still feel the warmth radiating from her body. It brought him a semblance of peace but also one of heartbreak. "Hey, (Y/n)." His thumb caressed her knuckles. "Guess what I did today? I took down two iron giants by myself! I'm getting pretty good at daemon hunting. I'm thinking about doing a hunt by myself." Prompto then told her about whatever came to mind. He wasn't sure if she could hear him, but he wanted to believe she could.

"Oh, hey." Prompto scooted closer to the edge of the seat. "Remember that one time Noct came over to study a few days before finals and he almost found you?"

•••••

"We're not seriously gonna sit here and study, are we?" A sixteen-year-old Noctis asked, throwing his head back. He stared up at the ceiling of Prompto's apartment, leaning back in the chair. He drummed his pencil against the kitchen table.

"Oh, c'mon, buddy!" A sixteen-year-old Prompto whined. "Let's do a few more math problems!"

"I suck at math," the prince groaned.

"So do I! That's why we're studying so we don't completely bomb the final. I don't care about getting an A or B, I just wanna pass..."

"Specs can help us with the math later." Noctis closes his math book and stood up, tossing his pencil down. "Let's order some pizza and play video games."

Prompto glances at the clock on the oven. "We've only beens studying for thirty minutes..." He followed his friend's actions and agreed. "Yeah, let's do it. I'll order the pizza while you pop in a game."

Noctis walked into the living room and grabbed Assassin's Creed II while Prompto pulled out his phone and ordered two large pizzas. Once their order was placed, he joined the prince on the couch and watched him play the game. They handed the controller back and forth whenever one of them died.

An hour later, their pizzas arrived. Prompto paid the delivery boy and thanked him before closing the door. He placed the pizza boxes on the coffee table before sitting back down to watch Noctis wander around the streets of Monteriggioni as Ezio. When he decided to return to the story, the raven-haired boy glanced over at the blonde. "So, you gonna tell me why you didn't wanna go out with that girl who asked you out today?"

Before Prompto could answer, a loud sound came from the bedroom. Both boys looked down the hallway when hearing the sound. Noctis' brows furrowed together. "The hell was that?"

Prompto knew it must've been (Y/n), who was hidden in the closet. "I-I didn't hear anything. Maybe you're just hearing things."

Noctis stood up, putting the controller on the coffee table. "No, I definitely heard something." He began wandering down the hallway towards the bedroom. Prompto was close behind him, hoping he wouldn't discover the girl hidden in the closet. He began nibbling his bottom lip nervously as they walked into the bedroom. He began tugging on the green and white tie of his school uniform as Noctis closed in on the closet.

When Noctis went to open the closet, Prompto acted quickly. He cleared his throat loudly and knocked off the picture frame of his adoptive parents off the nightstand beside the bed. He pointed at it and grabbed the prince's attention. "Hey, Noct! I think this is what we heard."

Noctis' hand froze on the handle to the closet door. He turned around and spotted the picture frame on the floor. He lowered his hand, walking away from the closet. "Guess so." He picked up the picture frame and put it back on the nightstand. At that exact moment, the prince's stomach grumbled. "Damn, I'm hungry. Let's dig into that pizza we bought."

"You go right ahead, buddy. I'll be back shortly. I've gotta go to the bathroom," Prompto said as Noctis left the room. Once the raven-haired boy was gone, he crept towards the closet. Before he could touch the handle, the door slid open slightly. From the small opening, he saw a single gold-slitted eye peek out from the darkness. He titled his head in confusion. "What're you doing in there, (Y/n)?"

The guardian opened the closet door more to show her entire face. She reached out a single arm and grabbed his tie, yanking him towards her. Their faces were mere inches from each other, resulting in a blush on Prompto's face. "Why didn't you tell me a girl asked you out?!" She whisper-yelled. "And you turned her down?!"

"Wh-Why does it sound like you're scolding me?" Prompto muttered. "And how in the world did you here that...?"

"You two aren't exactly quiet!" She pulled his face closer, their noses touching. "I can't believe you let the perfect opportunity for you to get a girlfriend slip!"

"I-I didn't like her like that!" Prompto protested. "Besides, I-I already have someone I really like..."

"Really?" (Y/n) gasped. "Who is it?"

"W-Well, it's..."

"Hey, Prompto!" Noctis shouted from the living room. "You fall in or something?"

"Be right there, buddy!" Prompto hollered back.

The spirit sighed begrudgingly and released him. "Go have fun. Just make sure to save me a couple of slices of pizza."

He nodded with a smile. "Will do, (Y/n)."

•••••

Prompto smiled at the fond memory. "The person I really liked was you, (Y/n). I was almost able to tell you, but Noct kinda ruined the moment."

He then went on to tell her about his recent visit to the chocobo farm in the Duscae region. After falling silent once going into great detail about his visit, Prompto squeezes her hand as the all-too-familiar sting of tears was felt in his eyes. His throat tightened painfully as he tried to keep from whimpering. "I...I hope you wake up soon, (Y/n). I really miss you." He lifted her hand, placing the back of it against his cheek. "Noct better hurry up and come back. I don't know how long I'll survive without either of you..."

<-----------<<<<<

Three excruciating long years passed by. Prompto, although still hopeful (Y/n) would wake up soon, was slowly losing that hope with each passing day. In order to distract himself, he kept busy by hunting any troublesome daemons and eventually was able to take up hunts all by himself. From time to time, he would join other groups of hunters, but most of the time he did hunts by himself to give him time to clear his head.

After he finished hunting down a necromancer, he found himself visiting Lestallum in hopes to see Gladio or Ignis. Instead of seeing his two friends, he found Iris. She waved at him as he walked over to her stall. "Hey, Prompto. I haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been pretty busy lately with hunting down some daemons. The gil's good and it lets me clear my head from time to time," he said.

Iris frowned melancholically. "Gladdy told me what happened to (Y/n). I'm so sorry."

Prompto smiled sorrowfully at the mention of the girl. "I try to visit her everyday, but...it's getting more difficult to see her like that."

"I can't even imagine how you feel," she mumbled.

"Maybe you should get the hell over it," a voice growled.

Iris and Prompto turned around to see Gladio approaching them. The young Amicitia glared at her brother. "Gladdy, how could you say something like that?"

Prompto knew how tough it'd been for Gladio to accept Noctis' disappearance. It had caused him to become tougher on him and others. His temper was shorter than ever and he was easily angered. However, that didn't excuse him from talking in such a manner. The blonde casted a glare in the shield's direction. "The hell's your problem?"

"I've no problem. You're the one who's still crying about a girl who's dead," Gladio hissed.

"She's not dead!" Prompto bellowed at the top of his lungs in anger. It grabbed the attention of everyone in the main thoroughfare. He clenched his fists tightly by his sides. "Would you be saying that if the woman you loved was in (Y/n)'s place?!"

"I'd stop moping and do something about it," the brute growled.

"I've already tried! There's nothing I can do, dammit!" Prompto bunched his hands up in his hair and tugged at his golden locks. "Even after a damned god told me she wouldn't wake up until Noct returns, I still tried!"

Gladio's angered expression was now dabbed with bewilderment. "What's this shit about a god?"

He untangled his hands from his hair, realizing he didn't tell Gladio or Ignis of how Brahma spoke to him. He thought they heard the Astral, but he was wrong. The god's words were for his ears only. "Brahma spoke to me at the Keep. He wants me to protect (Y/n) while she slumbers until Noct comes back."

"You're telling me an Astral is the reason why (Y/n)'s like that?" Gladio crosses his arms with a huff of annoyance.

"Yes!" Prompto shouted, his anger returning. "How the hell is anybody supposed to break a magic spell casted by a damned god?!"

"Try harder then," he spat. "I would if (Y/n) was my woman."

Prompto snapped. He punched Gladio in the face as hard as he could, causing him to fall to the ground. Iris was in shock. Not once had she seen someone punch Gladio so hard that it knocked him over. What was even more shocking was that person was Prompto. She wasn't mad at the blonde for punching his brother. If he hadn't done it, she would've.

"You're an asshole," Prompto snarled. His fist hurt, but that didn't match how painful his heart ached for (Y/n). "If you really think I haven't tried my hardest to get her back, you don't know me at all." With those final words, Prompto walked away.

Iris sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not gonna lie: you deserved that."

"Damn... Pipsqueak's gotten a lot stronger these past three years." Gladio wiped the small amount of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. He then looked up at his sister. "You gonna help your big brother off the ground?"

"No way," she scoffed. "I've gotta find Prompto. There's something I want to give him." She turned around to the stall she was managing and grabbed a bouquet of (f/c) flowers.

"Hold the damn phone," Gladio said before Iris could walk off. "You're giving him flowers? Don't tell me..."

"No!" She sneered. "I know how much he loves (Y/n). There's no way I'd do that to them. Besides, these are for her, not him. I wanted to give them to her myself, but I've been too busy to visit Hammerhead. I thought he could take them with him once he leaves."

Iris sauntered off, leaving Gladio sprawled out on the ground. She searched Lestallum and found Prompto sitting by the fountain outside the Leville. Seeing he was staring down at the fist he used to punch her brother, she carefully approached him. Once she was close enough, she saw the bruises forming along his knuckles. "I always knew punching Gladdy was like punching a rock."

Prompto lifted his head, revealing his face. He was still clearly angry, but he tried to keep it hidden under a facade of calmness. "It really did felt like I punched a rock. My whole hand hurts..."

The girl giggled and sat down beside him. "If you hadn't punched him, I would've." She gazed down at the bouquet in her grasp. "I'm really sorry about the way he acted. Ever since you guys came back, he's changed. He's more...angry and doesn't know how to deal with his emotions."

"We're all on edge," he sighed. "Some more than others, of course..."

"Moving away from my brother's awful behavior..." Iris held out the (f/c) flowers towards him. "I was hoping you'd give these flowers to (Y/n). I'm a little busy with running the stall and haven't had time to stop by Hammerhead."

Prompto's eyes widen at seeing the color of the flowers. "How'd you know (Y/n)'s favorite color is (f/c)?"

"I...actually didn't," she confessed with a smile. "It was a lucky guess."

He took the bouquet with a grateful smile etched across his face. "I'll give them to her. Thanks, Iris."

After a brief conversation with the young Amicitia, Prompto decided to leave Lestallum. He headed to where he left the small car he used to get around Lucis and drove back to Hammerhead.

When he arrived, he entered Takka's diner and asked the man behind the counter if he had something to put flowers in. All he could offer was a white tea kettle that he no longer used. Taking it from him, the blonde filled it with water and placed the flowers inside. Taking a step back to look at the makeshift vase, he smiled when realizing it actually looked cute. "I think she'll like it," he whispered to himself.

Grabbing the white tea kettle, Prompto left the diner and headed to the garage. He entered the small room in the back, his smile faltering slightly when seeing (Y/n) was still asleep. One day, he prayed he would open the door and find her sitting up in bed with her eyes open, waiting for him. "Sorry I'm late today, (Y/n). I decided to visit Lestallum to see how Iggy and Gladio were doing, but... Well, it didn't end pretty." He sat down in the chair, placing the tea kettle in his lap. "Anyway, Iris got you some (f/c) flowers! I was surprised to see flowers after three years. I wonder where she got them from?"

He places the kettle on the small plastic table by the bed. He then proceeded to tell her about his accomplishment of slaying a necromancer by himself. He felt a sense of pride in how he was able to handle such a powerful daemon without the help of anyone else.

Finishing his story, Prompto leaned over and placed a kiss on (Y/n)'s cheek. He said his farewells for now and left the room. Deciding to take the caravan and rest for a couple of days, he searched for Cindy and paid her. She thanked him sweetly, giving him the keys to the caravan.

Inside the caravan, the blonde placed the key down by the stove and dragged his exhausted body towards the bed located in the back. He flopped down on the mattress, not even bothering to get under the sheets. Grabbing one of the pillows, he hugged it against his chest and buried his face into it with a sigh. He muttered a few colorful slurs directed towards Gladio. He wanted to say so much more to the shield, but held his tongue in the heat of the moment.

Eventually, Prompto ceased cursing the brute's name and closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a deep sleep.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

[silverlightqueen]

21 Things To Do This Summer PJM

y/n has a week left to live and 21 things she wanted to do this summer. Jimin vows to help her do them all before she dies and give her the summer of a lifetime.

jimin x reader - angst, fluff, comedy, non-idol!au

Part of BangtanHQ’s ‘Bangtan Boardwalk’ at the ‘Summertime Sadness’ booth!

Rating: Mature (heavy themes and strong language - read with caution)

Word Count: 16.9k+ (she’s a monster omg)

Warnings: death and illness, discussion of death and illness, jokes about death and illness, brain tumour, discussion of eating disorders, brief mention of murder and crime (y/n jokes that Jimin could be a murderer or a thief), explicit language throughout, I think that’s it but please let me know if you noticed that I missed anything

a/n: here’s the first part guys! if you enjoy it, make sure to check out the other fics in the Summertime Sadness booth, and the other booths on the Bangtan Boardwalk! a huge thank you to @silverlightprincess​ for proofreading this massive fic, I love you so damn much x

silverlightqueen masterlist

y/n’s Summer Bucket List

21 Things to Do This Summer

1) Make a new friend

2) Dye my hair

3) Go on a road trip

4) Do pavement chalk

5) Get everybody I talk to to sign a shirt

6) Have s’mores at a bonfire

7) Get drunk and skinny dip at the beach

8) Make a wish balloon

9) Go to a fairground

10) Have a picnic

11) Get a tattoo

12) Sleep under the stars

13) Cloud watch

14) Try camping for the first time

15) Have a water fight

16) Make homemade ice cream

17) Have a pyjama day

18) Send a message in a bottle

19) Watch fireworks

20) Go to a drive-in movie

21) Make a photo album of it all

‘Hey! Hey, excuse me! Hey, wait, you dropped something!’ I can hear someone shouting and, despite the tears running down my face, I roll my eyes, wondering why the idiot who dropped something doesn’t stop to get it. ‘Excuse me! Hey, wait!’ I hear, the voice getting closer, before I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I realise; I’m the idiot.

I turn around to see a boy. The first thing I notice is the piece of paper in his hand. The second thing I notice is that I already know him. ‘You dropped thi- oh, y/n! Hey! Long time, no see. Wait, whoa, are you crying?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes again as I frustratedly wipe away my tears. ‘No, Jimin, why? Does it look like I am?’ I spit out sarcastically. ‘Okay, I’m going to ignore how rude that was because you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m going to be a good person and return this to you,’ he says, holding out the piece of paper. When I realise what it is, I snatch it from him, tucking it safely into my bag and mentally chiding myself for nearly losing it.

‘Thank you. Sorry for being rude,’ I say before I turn away, continuing to head home. It’s only after a few seconds I realise he’s walking beside me, and I speed up, trying to get away from him. He speeds up too. I slow down. So does he. I stop in my tracks, turning to shoot him an annoyed look, and he merely grins back at me, blinding me with his annoyingly handsome smile.

‘What do you want, Jimin?’ I ask tiredly, deciding not to be rude after he returned my list to me. ‘Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, so I thought it’d be nice to catch up. And I also know you, and you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m not going to abandon somebody who I have history with if they’re crying. And, as well as being a very caring and empathetic person, I’m very curious, and so I have to find out why you’re upset,’ he says, and I frown, continuing to walk, even more annoyed when he continues to walk alongside me.

‘It’s none of your business, Jimin,’ I say sharply, hoping he’ll leave me alone. ‘Well, obviously. It’s your business. But the nature of being curious is wanting to know other people’s business,’ he says as though he’s speaking to a little child, and I shoot him another look. ‘You’re practically a stranger.’ ‘I am not! We had classes together through the whole of high school!’ ‘I’m not going to tell you my business,’ I say with a note of finality, hoping he’ll leave the subject. And leave me, for that matter.

‘Would you tell me if you knew me better?’ he asks thoughtfully, and I roll my eyes. ‘Probably, yes.’ ‘Okay. I’m a Libra, I hate spinach and 13 is my lucky number. Oh, and I dance,’ he says, and I literally want to bash my head against a wall. ‘That does not mean I know you better. It just means you overshare.’ ‘Well, you can’t say I’m practically a stranger. Maybe only half a stranger,’ he says, and I let out a humourless laugh at how persistent he is, and he grins, mistaking it for a real laugh.

‘God, what is it with you? What do I have to say to you to get you to leave me alone?’ I ask, stopping in the street and putting my hand on my hip. ‘If you tell me why you’re crying. Or, should I say, were? Because, if you haven’t already noticed, you’re no longer crying. Thanks to me,’ he grins, and I actually didn’t notice that I’m not crying anymore.

‘Well, your stupid ass has distracted me,’ I admit, and he laughs, the sound quite… endearing. ‘So? Tell me then. I think I deserve to know. Considering I cheered you up,’ he says, and I roll my eyes yet again. ‘I said that you distracted me. That is not the same as cheering me up. Listen, Jimin, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. It’s nice to see you again, and I hope everything’s going well in your life, but it is not a good time for me right now. My patience is seriously wearing thin,’ I say, continuing to walk, but he still walks beside me, making me want to throttle him.

‘I think your patience was already thin. And I’m a good citizen, so I would never just let a pretty girl crying pass me by without asking what’s wrong. Especially if I already know her,’ he says lightly, and I roll my eyes. Is he seriously trying to flirt with me? ‘Jimin. Leave me alone,’ I say seriously, putting emphasis on every word as the anger begins to bubble up in my stomach. ‘Not until you tell me what’s wro-’ ‘I have a week left to live!’ I shout, losing my temper, and his face instantly transforms from teasing and light, to shocked and guilty as tears fill my eyes. That’ll teach him not to pry into other people’s business.

‘Oh. Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, y/n. I wouldn’t have asked if that’s what it was. I thought you were gonna say you’d broken up with your boyfriend or something. I’m so sorry,’ he says, sounding sincere, but I merely roll my eyes, turning and walking away, and hoping he’ll leave me alone now. ‘How’d you know?’ I hear him say from beside me, and I sigh aloud, having to physically restrain myself from hitting this boy with my bag.

‘What?’ ‘How’d you know you’ve only got a week left to live?’ ‘I went to the doctor a couple days ago, for chronic headaches. They did some scans, and then I got a call this morning to go to the hospital. They told me I have a brain tumour. Terminal. They said I’m lucky if I have another ten days,’ I say tiredly, a couple tears falling down my face which I wipe away hastily, and he takes a deep breath. ‘Wow. I’m really sorry. That’s… terrible. Is there no treatment?’ he asks, and I sigh again. ‘Yes, but they said it’s unlikely to cure it, it’ll only delay my inevitable death, and it’s… painful. I’d rather die sooner than later if later’s gonna hurt. Or it could get rid of the tumour, but it could ruin my future quality of life; I might not be able to speak the same, walk the same, even think the same. So I’ve refused treatment,’ I explain, not sure why I’m opening up to him, and he nods. ‘Reasonable. I’d do the same.’

We walk in silence for a few moments before Jimin starts speaking again. ‘So. Where are you going now?’ he asks, and I side-eye him. ‘Home.’ ‘To your boyfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one.’ ‘Girlfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one of those either.’ ‘Spouse?’ ‘I’m single.’ ‘Parents?’ ‘Don’t live with them.’ ‘Siblings?’ ‘Only child.’ ‘Friends.’ ‘Don’t have any.’ ‘What about all your friends from school?’ ‘I matured; they didn’t.’ ‘Oop. Roommates?’ ‘Nope.’

‘You live alone?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘I have a dog. If that counts,’ I say, and he grins. ‘Of course it counts. What breed?’ ‘A miniature husky. His name’s Coco, and he’s literally tiny,’ I say, a small smile coming onto my face at the thought of my baby, and he holds a hand to his heart. ‘That’s a cute name. My friend, Taehyung – you remember him, right? – he has a Pomeranian who’s tiny, called Yeontan. Tannie for short. Tan for even shorter,’ he says, and I smile despite myself.

‘That’s so adorable. Maybe Taehyung can have Coco. He’ll need a new owner,’ I say jokingly, and Jimin winces. ‘Don’t you feel like it’s too early to make jokes?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘It’s never too early. By the time it’s okay, I’ll be dead,’ I say bluntly, and he lets out a strangled laugh, as though he wants to hold it back but can’t.

I still feel a little shocked, but mainly numb. I went through the stages of dealing with bad news whilst I was still at the hospital. I started by denying it, and telling the doctor that something in the scan must be wrong. And then I got super angry that it hadn’t already been identified and screamed a little at her (it was my own fault, though – I’m the one that didn’t go to the doctor until it’d been months of me having headaches). Then I tried to bargain with the doctor, and ask if there were any treatments that don’t hurt or wouldn’t cause me irreversible damage, or if there was any chance I would survive any longer. And then I cried. A lot. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I got through a box and a half of tissues. I was at the hospital for three and a half hours, and spent two hours of that crying. And I was still crying when I left.

I guess I’m now in the acceptance stage. I didn’t know it was possible to move through the stages that quickly.

‘What was that paper you dropped? Your diagnosis?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘All my paperwork was in a folder, loads of it. I threw it in the recycling at the hospital.’ ‘Glad to see you’re looking after the planet for those of us that’ll still be here when you’re gone,’ Jimin says, almost tentatively, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. ‘That was funny,’ I admit, and he grins, relaxing. ‘I do try.’ ‘Yes, you’re very trying.’

‘Anyway. What was that paper then?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Do you, like, make it your life’s mission to pry?’ ‘No, it comes naturally. A lot of girls receive it well, actually. They like it when someone good-looking seems interested in their life,’ he smirks, and I shoot him a disgusted look. ‘Big-headed much?’ ‘Just truthful.’ ‘Well, I’m not receiving it well. Clearly.’ ‘I guess you’re not like other girls then,’ he muses, and I shoot him another look. ‘Please don’t tell me you think that’s a compliment, because it isn’t,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Let me rephrase it. You’re not like the girls that I’m used to being around.’ ‘You’re probably used to being around girls just as pretty as you.’ ‘You think I’m pretty?’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘Well, you’re right. But it’s okay, because you’re not just as pretty as me. You’re prettier.

But anyway. Are you gonna tell me what that paper is?’ he asks again, skimming over the fact he’s now called me pretty for the second time, and I sigh, giving up. ‘It’s a summer bucket list. I saw this girl reading a book with the same name in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery the other day, and it inspired me to write one,’ I admit, and he grins. ‘That’s cute,’ he says, and I roll my eyes, looking away from him. ‘Well, I’m gonna die before I get to do any of them anyway,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that,’ he says, voice small, and I nod.

We continue walking, his shoulder a few inches from mine, and I distract myself from the slightly awkward silence by looking at our surroundings instead. It’s a lovely summer’s day today; warm and sunny with the most beautiful breeze. Families are out in force despite it being a weekday, little boys running around shirtless and barefoot, and little girls in cute summer outfits. Chill ‘vibey’ music floats through open car windows, couples share ice cream at the café we walk past, birds chirp in the trees that line the road. It’s such a beautiful day. I even shaved my legs and put on a cute floral playsuit. So much for sunbathing in the garden.

‘Hang on,’ Jimin says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. ‘What?’ ‘Who says you can’t tick off your bucket list?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m going to die, Jimin,’ I say slowly, and he lets out a frustrated noise. ‘You have a week. That’s more than enough time for us to do it all,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Us? Who said anything about us?’ ‘I’ve taken it upon myself to help you tick off this bucket list.’ ‘And I’m taking it upon myself to refuse your help.’

‘Um, rude. Why?’ he asks with an amused glint in his eye, and my eyes widen even more. ‘Are you kidding? We barely know each other. The closest we ever were was when Nayeon and Jungkook dated and we all planned at their joint birthday party, and when we got paired together for that History project. That was years ago; I have no idea what kind of person you are now. You could be a murderer,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re going to die anyway,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘Okay, I’m allowed to joke about it; you are not. You could be a thief.’ ‘Again: you’re going to die anyway. But, I’m not a thief, so don’t worry. You’ll still have all of your belongings to put in your will.’ ‘Excuse me. Stop joking about my imminent death.’

‘Listen, I want to help you. Let me help you tick off your bucket list,’ he pleads, and I’m surprised at myself for actually considering it. I’m going to die anyway – I might as well spend my last few days having fun. Even if it is with an unbearably curious person from my past. ‘Please let me help you. I’ll consider my life a waste if you don’t,’ he says dramatically, dropping to the floor, making enough of a scene for people to look over at us. ‘Jimin, get up,’ I hiss, and he scrabbles at my shoes. ‘I’ll die if you don’t let me. Please, y/n, please let me,’ he wails, and I look around embarrassedly, feeling lots of stares on us.

‘If I say yes, will you stop making such an embarrassment of yourself?’ I hiss, and he looks up at me with wide eyes and a grin, nodding. ‘Then, yes. I’ll let you help me,’ I sigh, and he jumps up from the floor, a wide smile spreading across his lips. ‘Okay, let’s see what I’m working with,’ he says, and I look at him blankly. ‘Let me see the list,’ he prompts, and I pull the list out of my bag, handing it to him tiredly.

‘Okay, let’s see. ‘y/n’s Summer Bucket List’. Cute. ‘21 Things to Do This Summer’. Only 21 things? This’ll be easier than I thought,’ he says, before his eyes scan down the rest of the list. As he reads it, I look him up and down, inspecting him. He’s changed since school. A lot. He’s now around 5’8’’, with clear golden skin, chocolate brown eyes, plump pink lips and ink black hair swept back from his forehead (must be dyed because I remember his hair being a lot lighter than this). He’s dressed in a pair of grey shorts and a plain white t-shirt, a loose grey jacket over the top of it with pair of sunglasses at the back of his head. ‘Okay, well, you’ve already achieved number one. Making a new friend,’ he says, pointing at himself with a grin, and I roll my eyes exasperatedly. ‘I don’t know you well enough to call you a friend,’ I say, and he sighs.

‘That’s the best bit. You barely know me, and I barely know you. We can be whoever we want to be. All I know about you is the vague stuff from school, and I know that you had high hopes for this summer, but you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And you’ve only got a week left. And that you’re grumpy and get annoyed easily and are not receptive to strangers. And you’ve got a dog called Coco. All you know about me is the vague stuff from school, and that I’m a Libra, I hate spinach, my lucky number is 13, and that I dance.’ ‘And that you’re annoyingly curious and persistent and stubborn and think a lot of yourself.’ ‘Exactly! That’s literally nothing in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So you think we should lie to each other about what and who we are?’ ‘No, no, you’re misunderstanding. Haven’t you ever wanted to be like someone, but you’re too scared to, or you’re too stuck in your ways?’ he asks, voice soft, and I nod. ‘This is your chance. We barely know each other, and we have no more than a week together. You get to be whatever you want to be, y/n, and we’ll tick off everything on your list. We can be like those reckless teenagers from all those stupid films. What have you got to lose?’ he says gently, his eyes big and his words convincing.

‘We can’t do all this in a week,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Can’t is not in my vocabulary. And neither are cannot, unable to, won’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t-’ ‘Who in this century says mustn’t?’ ‘We can easily do all this in a week. Even less than a week,’ he says, and I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Ambitious, but I don’t think so.’ ‘And that’s not in my vocabulary either. But… give me four days,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Four days?’ ‘Easy. I could probably do it in three, but I’ll say an extra day just to be sure,’ he says confidently, and I roll my eyes.

‘Haven’t you, like… got a job? Or, like, studying? You can’t just devote four days – or more – to helping me tick off my bucket list,’ I say, and he rolls his eyes. ‘Why are you so sensible? Trust me, there’s nothing I have to do,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. ‘Fine,’ he sighs, ‘I work with my friend – Hoseok, remember him? – at his dance studio, but he’ll let me have some time off,’ he says, and I’m still slightly sceptical, but decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Why do you want to help me? Haven’t you got better things to do with your life?’ I ask him, voice small, and he smiles, seemingly endeared. ‘There’s something tragic about you, y/n. You went to the hospital alone to be told that you’re going to die. And you don’t live with anybody. And you have a list of things you wanted to do this summer, but won’t be able to do them without help. My help. Of all the places you dropped that paper, you dropped it in front of me. And of all the people that could’ve picked it up, it was me. We haven’t seen each other since we left school, and even though the odds of us seeing each other again were slim, look where we are. Fate works in mysterious ways, y/n. Let me help you. For old time’s sake,’ he says softly, and I feel that little voice in my head whisper, ‘why not?’

‘You know what? Let’s do it,’ I say, throwing caution to the wind, and feeling a little bit of excitement bloom in my chest. ‘Wait, really?’ he asks, surprise on his face but also… hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it,’ I say with a small smile, the excitement in my chest flooding out into my veins. He jumps up and pumps the air, whooping and shouting in celebration, and I don’t even feel embarrassed of him, finding it quite endearing.

‘Okay, let’s get started. It’s 12.32, so we have until 12.32 on Sunday to tick the whole list off. Let me look at the list again. Um… well, number one’s done. And the last one, the photo album, we can buy a photo album now and take pictures as we go along to put in it,’ he says, thinking aloud, before he turns abruptly. I look around in alarm before rushing after him. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘There’s a supermarket just down the road that we can get a photo album from. Oh, and we can buy an instant camera too! Cuter pictures,’ he says, and I roll my eyes with a small smile on my face.

‘We should just scrap that one. It’s not like I’ll be able to look back at it, so what’s the point?’ I say, and he frowns at me. ‘Well, we could say that about all of this, but it’s about making your last few days exciting and fun and an experience of a lifetime. So don’t say ‘what’s the point’, because there is a point,’ he says firmly, and I keep my mouth shut, unable to stop a small smile from appearing on my face.

We enter the supermarket, the change in temperature making me shiver in my skimpy outfit, and Jimin looks over at me. ‘Oh, my God, my mum would kill me if she knew how ungentlemanly I was being right now,’ he says, taking his jacket off. ‘No, Jimin, it’s fine,’ I try to stop him, but he’s already handing it to me and taking my little backpack from my hand. ‘Let me. Have you ever been treated like a princess?’ he asks, and I shake my head shyly. ‘Then take the jacket and let me hold your bag. It’s the least you deserve,’ he says, and I smile to myself as I shrug on the jacket without further complaint, watching amusedly when he puts on the backpack.

He leads us towards the electronics, the back corner of the store, and makes a beeline for the camera section. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he asks, and I hesitate. ‘It’s hard to choose a favourite,’ I say quietly, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile playing at his lips. ‘Okay. What’s your favourite colour out of these?’ he says, motioning to the instant cameras, and I think before answering, ‘that one. The pastel blue.’ ‘Ah, nice choice,’ he says, picking one of the boxes up and heading over towards where the photo albums are, and I follow after him. ‘This one’s perfect!’ he says, pointing at one the same colour as the camera, and I nod, Jimin picking it up with a grin.

‘Right, let’s just double-check this list and see if there’s anything else we need,’ he says, getting the list out of his pocket again. ‘Hmm, we could buy some chalk to do number 4. And we can buy a shirt and markers to do number 5,’ he says, thinking aloud again, walking ridiculously quickly to where the art and school supplies section where the chalk and markers will be, before rushing off towards the clothes section, having me running around behind him.

Once we’ve picked out a plain white button-up dress shirt, we head over to the counter, Jimin chatting amicably with the cashier as I hang behind, surprised and slightly envious of his ability to speak to strangers like they’re close friends. ‘Would you mind doing us a favour?’ Jimin asks, and the cashier nods instantly, scanning through the shirt. ‘Can you sign this shirt? Just, like, with your name and your… job, I guess. We, um, we’re doing a project,’ Jimin says with a grin at me, and the cashier nods again, looking a little confused as Jimin hands her a marker from the pack. She writes ‘Soojung –supermarket cashier’, before handing Jimin the marker back with a grin.

‘Have you got film for this camera?’ Soojung asks as she scans it through, and Jimin looks to me, both of us exchanging an embarrassed glance. ‘No, but it’d probably help,’ I say frankly, and Jimin nods with a laugh. ‘I’ll go and grab them for you,’ the cashier says, getting up and running off. ‘We could’ve gone and gotten it, she didn’t have to,’ I say, and Jimin grins. ‘Perks of being a nice person – people do things for you that they don’t have to,’ he says pointedly, and I scowl at him. ‘Was that a dig?’ I demand, and he grins even wider. ‘Not at all, my dear, y/n,’ he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and I roll my eyes in response, the cashier reappearing with a couple boxes of film.

‘Do you want just the one or…?’ ‘We’ll take both,’ Jimin replies, the cashier nodding, scanning them through. ‘Gonna make some summer memories?’ the cashier asks, and we exchange another glance, a small smile playing at Jimin’s lips when he replies, ‘something like that, yeah.’

‘Okay, let’s have another look at this list,’ Jimin says once we’re seated in the back corner of his favourite coffee shop, pulling the list out of his pocket and reading it through. ‘So you’ve already made a new friend. Me. We’ve got the chalk for number four, and a shirt and markers for number 5. I should sign the shirt, right?’ he says, and I nod, thinking this’ll be easier if I let him do what he wants, and he grins, writing ‘Park Jimin - y/n’s fabulously beautiful assistant and school friend’. I raise an eyebrow, and he raises one back, challenging me to say something, but I just shake my head with a small smile.

‘Let’s look at the rest of them. Number 2, dyeing your hair… I have a trillion boxes of dye at home, that’s easy. Number 3, go on a road trip… we can do that, and tick off the others as we do it. Number 4, pavement chalk, we can do with Taehyung on his and Namjoon’s driveway because Tae’s good at art and their driveway is huge. Number 5, get everyone to sign a shirt, won’t be difficult, we just have to remember. Number 6, have s’mores at a bonfire… let me think about that one. Number 7,’ he begins, before looking up at me with a smirk, and I roll my eyes, a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t laugh. It’s something that so many people have done, and I never have,’ I say defensively, his mouth falling open. ‘You’ve never gotten drunk?’ he asks jokingly, and I laugh despite myself. ‘No, idiot, I’ve never skinny-dipped, but I’m pretty sure I’ll only have the courage to do it if I’m drunk,’ I say, and he nods, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You can leave me with that one too, I’ll think about it.

Number 8, make a wish balloon, that’s easy. Number 9, go to a fairground… that may be a bit more difficult, but I’ll get it done. Number 10, have a picnic, easy. Number 11, get a tattoo, ooh, that’s fun. I know the perfect place. Number 12, go to a drive-in movie… difficult, but I’ll find a way. Number 13, cloud watch, super easy. Number 14, try camping for the first time, that’s easy too. Number 15, water fight… that’s easy as well. Number 16, homemade ice cream, easy. Number 17, pyjama day, even easier. Number 18, send a message in a bottle… should be easy. Number 19, run through sprinklers… shouldn’t be too hard. I hope. Number 20, stargaze and fall asleep under the stars, should be easy enough. And Number 21 is well under way already,’ he says with a grin.

The photo album already has two pictures in it; one of Jimin and I smiling and squinting in the sunlight, and one of us with the cashier, who looks a little awkward, but it’s fine. Nothing will be more awkward than telling her we’re trying to tick off a summer bucket list within a few days because I’m going to die soon. I was right – Jimin has a serious habit of oversharing.

‘Hi, welcome to the Sweetbrew. I’m Yoongi, I’ll be your server. What can I get you?’ a barista says, sounding like he wants to die, his entire face hidden behind a menu. ‘Yoongi,’ Jimin says, snatching the menu to reveal a boy with porcelain skin, mint green hair and brown eyes. I recognise him as one of Jimin’s best friends from school – Min Yoongi.

He was always one of the quieter members of their friendship group. Not shy, but more calm and laidback – it was easy to seem like that when surrounded by his friends, every single one of them having been big and loud characters. But he was just like the rest of them in that he was definitely popular, and desirable too. Everyone saw him as this sensitive and kind boy, his passion for music reinforcing that even more, and there was always somebody that was crushing on him, his look unique and intriguing. And he’s only gotten better looking since school, more mature and manly, yet still with the soft and delicate features that he had back then.

‘Oh, Jimin. Hey,’ he says, sounding a little more lively, before he turns to look at me. ‘Ah, y/n, right? From school?’ he asks, and I’m surprised at how quick he recognises me. ‘I told the group chat about you. Sorry,’ Jimin says, and my eyes widen, Yoongi sitting in the spare seat at our table. ‘What? When?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘While you got distracted playing with that puppy outside the supermarket,’ he says, and I frown.

‘Did you tell them everything?’ ‘No. Well, nearly everything. I told them what we’re doing, but I didn’t say why. Obviously,’ he says, and I fix him with a glare. ‘Oh, it’s okay to tell a random shop worker, but not your best friends?’ I ask, Yoongi shooting him a look too. ‘Not cool, Park,’ Yoongi says, and Jimin scowls. ‘I already apologised for that. I have a serious problem with oversharing,’ he says, Yoongi and I exchanging a glance as we chorus, ‘we know.’

‘Why are you doing this? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Yoongi asks, curiosity in his eyes, and I sigh. ‘I’ve got a brain tumour, so I’ve got, like, a week left to live,’ I say bluntly, Yoongi’s mouth falling open. ‘Oh. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, y/n, that’s awful,’ he says, sounding a little awkward, but I wave him off. ‘It’s fine. I’ve already gone through the five stages, and am now sufficiently distracted from my impending demise by your stupid friend,’ I say, Jimin scowling.

‘Well, at least he can make up for being stupid by helping you tick off your list. Anyway, you guys want drinks or you just chilling?’ Yoongi asks, and Jimin looks to me to answer. ‘I could do with a drink.’ ‘What would you like, y/n?’ Yoongi asks, and I hesitate, not quite sure. ‘Um… I don’t know. Jimin, what do you have?’ I ask, but Jimin already looks like he’s cooking up a scheme. ‘What fruits do you like, y/n?’ he asks me, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘berries, pineapple, mango, kiwi, peach. I like everything.’

Yoongi and Jimin exchange a glance, talking without words, and Yoongi nods before disappearing into the back. ‘Anyway. We need to get Yoongi to sign your shirt before we leave, remember. And then… we can go to Tae and Joon’s to do pavement chalk. And we should be able to make the ice cream at Tae and Joon’s too. Then we can go and pick up stuff from our houses before we go on the road trip,’ he says, and I hold up a hand.

‘We’re gonna have to go to mine before we go to Taehyung and Namjoon’s, because I’ve left Coco with the neighbour. I told her I’d only be a couple hours and it’s already been… nearly four,’ I say, Jimin nodding, and I can practically see his mind working. ‘We can get Coco and take her to theirs, and she can play with Tan while we get on with ticking things off. And then we can take her on the road trip with us the next day,’ he says, and I nod, getting more and more excited with his ideas.

‘Are you gonna drop me home tonight and then pick me up in the morning?’ I ask, and he thinks. ‘How about… we sleep over at Tae and Joon’s? You can get all your stuff when we go now, and then we’ll be able to leave first thing in the morning,’ he suggests, but I’m sceptical. ‘Won’t they mind?’ I ask, and he shakes his head instantly. ‘They’re so chill about this kinda stuff. They really won’t mind. We all sleep over at their house all the time because it’s the biggest. There’s more than enough space,’ he says, obviously trying hard to convince me, and I nod. There’s no point worrying about intruding at their house when their best friend seems to be the most intruding person in history.

Jimin looks back down at the list, thinking hard, and I smile to myself. It’s sweet that he’s putting so much effort in to try and tick off this list, even though we barely know each other. The most we ever said to each other at school would’ve been ‘d’you have a spare pen?’ or ‘can you pass me the bottle opener?’

Yoongi reappears after a couple minutes with two plastic cups in his hands, the drinks within them vibrant pink and orange. ‘I call this one… ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’. I put in the syrups for all the fruits you named and a lot of sugar and ice,’ he says, putting them down with a flourish, my heart warming as I smile at him. ‘Thank you. It looks amazing,’ I say, taking a sip, my eyes widening as the flavours explode in my mouth. ‘And it tastes amazing too,’ Jimin says, having already taken a (large) gulp.

‘I’m not the best barista here for nothing. But, y/n, you gotta take the credit. It is named after you,’ Yoongi says, and I roll my eyes with a smile. ‘Get out of here. But, for real, it tastes great, Yoongi,’ I say, the boy giving me the cutest gummy smile, and then I notice Jimin fiddling around with the camera. ‘What are you trying to do?’ I ask, stifling a laugh, and he sighs defeatedly. ‘Take a picture of us with your drink,’ he says, and I hold back a smile, ‘get someone else to take it.’

He ropes in an innocent woman sat beside us with her friend, and she takes a while to focus the camera on us and get the three of us in frame, but when the photo develops, it’s pretty good. ‘Perfect. Right, let’s head back and get Coco,’ Jimin says, and I hold out a hand. ‘Wait. Yoongi, will you sign this shirt?’ I ask, and he looks a little confused. Nevertheless, he signs it as ‘Min Yoongi – creator of the iconic ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’ drink and y/n’s school friend’.

Jimin looks thoughtful as we rise from our seats, and I side-eye him. I’ve noticed that a little bit of panic appears in my chest when I see that look on his face. ‘Yoongi, you busy tonight?’ Jimin asks, and Yoongi shakes his head. ‘I’m never busy,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘When d’you get off work?’ ‘4.’ ‘Come ‘round to Tae and Joon’s. I got an idea,’ Jimin says cryptically, wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I give him a look.

‘Okay. See you guys later then,’ Yoongi says before turning to head into the back. ‘Wait. Don’t we need to pay?’ I ask, and Yoongi smiles at me, a little sadness behind the expression. ‘It’s on the house. I might even speak to the manager about getting this drink put on the menu,’ he says, and I smile at him, trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. ‘Good idea. Thanks, Yoongi. See you later,’ I say, Jimin bidding him goodbye as he disappears into the back. ‘Okay,’ Jimin turns to look at me with a grin, ‘let’s go get Coco.’

‘Oh, y/n. Oh, my angel, I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Choi says for the eleventh time, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and I smile sadly. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Choi,’ I say, not sure what else to say, when Jimin appears at my elbow. ‘Everything’s in the car now, so whenever you’re ready,’ he says with a grin as he hands me the house keys, Mrs Choi looking him up and down. ‘Oh, Mrs Choi, this is Jimin… an old school friend. Jimin, this is Mrs Choi, my lovely neighbour who my dog likes more than me,’ I say, Mrs Choi laughing as Jimin shakes her hand, bowing his head politely.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, y/n, Coco adores you. He cries whenever you leave him with me,’ she says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘And then cries when I come to pick him up,’ I point out, and she waves a hand dismissively. ‘It’s because I feed him so much,’ Mrs Choi says, and I laugh, Coco appearing in the doorway behind her. He comes bounding up to me, my heart filling as he rests his front paws on my leg, and I bend down to pick him up. ‘Hi, baby. You okay?’ I say, showering him in kisses, and ducking away when he tries to lick my face. I hate when he licks my makeup off.

‘That is the cutest dog ever,’ Jimin says, and I hold Coco out to him. He instantly takes him into his arms, and giggles when he licks the tip of his nose. Coco leaps out of his arms, and he panics, trying to catch him, but he does it all the time, bounding around the front garden. ‘Here,’ Mrs Choi says, handing Jimin the little tennis ball she keeps beside the door for when she plays with Coco. He instantly throws it and Coco bounds after it, running straight back to him with it in his mouth.

‘He’s handsome,’ Mrs Choi observes quietly so Jimin can’t hear, and I roll my eyes. ‘And doesn’t he know it?’ ‘Are you… and him…?’ ‘Oh, God, no. I… there’s a list of things I wanted to do this summer, and he’s helping me get through it all before I...’ I trail off, and she nods, blinking furiously, obviously trying not to cry. ‘That’s lovely of him. Make sure you take lots of pictures to show me,’ she says, and I grin. ‘We’ve already started a photo album. Actually. Hold on,’ I say, getting the camera out of my bag as Jimin bends down to pet Coco who jumps on him, the unexpectedness making him fall onto his back. I get a really cute picture of him lying down, laughing, with Coco on his chest, trying to lick his face.

‘Lovely. Well, I’ll let you get to it. But make sure you come to see me again before… well, when you get back from ticking off your list,’ she says, pulling me into a hug, and I screw my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to cry in front of her. She’s been like a mother figure to me since I moved out of my parents’ house, always coming over to check if I’m okay, bringing me food and inviting me around at least once a week, looking after Coco whenever I need her to. I’m heartbroken that I’m going to be leaving a hole in her life when I go.

‘I will. See you later, Mrs Choi,’ I say, pulling away from her, and we exchange a sad smile. ‘See you, y/n. Be careful, dear, and have fun,’ she says sadly, pressing a kiss to my cheek, giving me one last long look before she disappears into her house. I don’t blame her; I’d be struggling to deal if I were in her position.

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ I call to Jimin who’s sat cross legged on the floor, Coco running towards him with the ball and dropping it beside him. Jimin’s standing when I reach them and he hands me the ball, Coco’s eyes never leaving it. ‘Do you want Coco to sit on my lap or do you mind him sitting in the back?’ I ask, as we walk towards his car, and he shrugs. ‘He can sit in the back, I don’t mind,’ he says, and I pull open the back door, putting the ball in there, and Coco leaps in without hesitation. I shut the door behind him before climbing into the passenger seat, Jimin already sat in the driver’s seat.

‘You ready?’ he says excitedly as he starts the engine, putting on the radio which is currently playing Justin Bieber. ‘Yep. Let’s do this,’ I say, sneaking one last look at Mrs Choi’s house. And then it hits me. This might be the last time I look at her house. I might die before I get to see her again.

My body goes cold all over, tears prickling in my eyes as my throat constricts painfully. It just repeats in my head again and again; ‘I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.’

Coco realises I’m upset before Jimin does, and he begins to whine from the backseat. ‘Is Coco okay?’ I hear Jimin’s voice distantly, and when I don’t reply, I hear him coo, ‘Coco? What’s the matter, boy?’ And then he looks over at me.

‘Oh,’ he breathes out, instantly pulling over. ‘y/n,’ he says gently, reaching out to take one of my hands, and the second his skin touches mine, I burst into tears. He shuffles as close as he can, the gearstick separating us, and he leans across the gap, pulling me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder, letting him hold me as the tears come in an endless flood, whispering the words ‘I’m going to die’ every few seconds.

Once I’ve calmed down (and feel ridiculously uncomfortable in the position we’re in), I gently push away from him, and he releases me, still holding one of my hands in his. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and he frowns. ‘Don’t apologise. You’re allowed to be upset. Like, you’re going to die, for God’s sake; you can cry about that. Cry as much as you want, you’re entitled to do so. Just… tell me when you’re upset so I don’t say something stupid,’ he says ruefully, a small laugh falling from my lips, and he grins.

‘It’s just… it’s not fair. There’s still so much I wanted to do with my life. I’ll never work in my dream job. There are so many beautiful places I’ll never get to see. Tokyo, Mexico, Portugal, Bali, Dubai, India, Australia, Brazil, Hawaii, The Caribbean, The Maldives, Greece, Morocco. So many things that everyone does that I’ll never get a chance to do. Fall in love, get married, have a family. I’ve never even been in a relationship,’ I say with a harsh laugh, and Jimin sighs.

‘You’re right, y/n. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all. You deserve so much more, so much better. You’ve been robbed of the rest of your life. You’re allowed to be angry. I’m angry,’ he says so simply, and it feels as though his words just… make it all okay. It’s hard to explain, but they feel like a consolation. They make me feel like the way I’m feeling isn’t me just being irrational, or a spoiled brat, because I know that it could be worse. They make me feel like I’m justified in my thoughts and feelings. And that’s what I need right now.

‘Thank you,’ I say, sniffling a little, and he smiles at me. ‘You’re most welcome, y/n. Now. Are you ready to go to Tae and Joon’s or would you like to cry for a little longer?’ he says teasingly, and I laugh, shoving him gently. ‘Drive, you moron,’ I say, and he gasps as he starts up the car, a small grin playing at his lips as he says, ‘Moron? I’m about to give you the summer of a lifetime in four days. Do you think a moron could do that? No, of course they couldn’t.’

‘y/n! Oh, my God, girl, it’s so good to see you!’ Taehyung exclaims the second I open the car door, running over from the front door and throwing his arms around me. I was always a little closer to Taehyung than I was to Jimin, because we had quite a few classes together. I hug him back, my face practically smushed against his chest as he holds me in a bone-crushingly tight embrace.

‘Hey, Taehyung. How have you been?’ I ask as he releases me, his hands still on my shoulders. He holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down, before an appreciative grin spreads across his face. I hold back from pointing out that he still has the same adorable boxy smile from high school. And then I register his bright blue hair, stifling a laugh at how eccentric he still is. ‘I’m good. You got hot, y/n!’ he exclaims, and I feel blood rushing to my face from embarrassment.

‘Thank you. But look at you! You’re so handsome, Tae,’ I grin, and he grins back with a little wink. Everything about him is just as appealing as back then. Tae was definitely a ladies’ man… and a men’s man too. He was loud and bubbly, his personality easily grabbing the attention of everyone in any room, and his laugh was crazy infectious. He was the perfect mix of cute and hot, and he’s only gotten hotter, with his manly features and strong build.

‘Thank you, babe. Come in, come in. Jimin, do you need a hand with the bags? No? Good,’ he says, not even waiting for an answer from Jimin before he drags me up towards the house, the other boy muttering behind us as I hear him pop the boot open.

The second I step over the threshold, a ball of fluff appears and begins yapping at me from behind Tae, and he bends down to pick it up. ‘y/n, this is my beloved son, Kim Yeontan, or Tannie for short,’ Taehyung says, introducing me to his little Pomeranian, who has now quietened down and is staring at me with a curious look in his eyes. ‘Hi, Tannie,’ I coo at the dog, reaching a hand out to stroke his head, and he lets me with a contented little growl low in his throat.

‘Ah, he likes you! He rarely likes strangers. Little coward,’ Taehyung says affectionately as I slip off my shoes, Jimin appearing in the doorway with my bag (a suitcase, actually – yes, I might be dying soon, but I wanna make sure I look good when I do, so I had to bring plenty of clothes) in one hand, and Coco in the other. And then the barking match starts.

Coco and Yeontan incessantly yowl and woof at each other, both of them scrabbling to get out of Jimin and Tae’s arms. And then Taehyung puts Tan down, and Tan instantly shuts up, hiding behind his dad’s legs. Jimin does the same, putting Coco down, and he tries to get Jimin to pick him up again. ‘They’re both cowards,’ I mutter with a smile as Taehyung leads us down the front hallway, Yeontan trotting along beside him as I follow behind, Coco hanging back with Jimin as he takes his shoes off and shuts the front door.

We enter the kitchen, and if it wasn’t clear from the outside of the house, it’s made clear now; this house is beautiful, and expensive. It’s roomy and spacious, modern and clean, with classy and tasteful furnishings. ‘I love your house, Tae. It’s so nice, and I love the way you’ve decorated,’ I say, and he beams at me, eyes nearly disappearing behind their lids. ‘Thank you, y/n. It was all me – Joon has no sense of decoration,’ he says, sounding genuinely touched, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at me as he walks in. ‘Look at you sucking up,’ he mutters with a grin, and Tae and I both shoot him dirty looks.

‘You want something to drink, y/n? Before we get started on the chalk?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘I’m okay, thank you,’ I reply, but he’s already distracted with the list that Jimin’s put in front of him on the marble island counter. ‘Ooh, so this is the list? Let’s have a look,’ he says before reading it intently. Once he’s done, his eyes flit up to me, before flitting back down to the page.

‘Don’t take offence to this, okay?’ he says, and I already brace myself for a mocking remark. ‘Some of this stuff is, like, basic teenager stuff. How have you not done all of this already?’ he asks softly, and I feel a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, I just… after high school, I drifted from the girls – I still talk to them every now and then, but it isn’t the same – and I didn’t really… make any new friends to do these kind of things with. I have my work friends, but the most I’ve ever done with them is a night out. And in high school, I guess I was… too cautious and too scared to join in on these kind of things. We went on a group trip to the beach – I was the only one that didn’t skinny dip. The end of school prank was dyeing our hair in the school toilets – I was the one of the only ones that didn’t dye mine. Everyone planned a camping trip together – I didn’t go. I was, and still am, a little… uptight, I guess? I wanted to change that this summer, but…’ I trail off, and Tae surprises me by nodding sadly.

‘Jimin told me on the phone while you were talking to your neighbour,’ he says, and I shoot Jimin a look. ‘I thought it’d be better if you didn’t have to keep telling people!’ he exclaims defensively, and I nod with a roll of my eyes, thinking his reasoning is fair enough. ‘I’m really sorry, y/n. There’s not much someone can say in these kind of situations, but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry, and that it’s so unfair,’ he says gently, and I smile sadly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

‘Now, anyway. Shall we get on with this list? I know Jimin said that we can start with chalk and ice cream, but…’ Tae says, voice a lot more cheerful as he sidles over to me, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, ‘I think we should dye your hair first.’ ‘Dye it?’ I say, lifting a hand to pat my hair protectively, having not yet worked up the courage. ‘Yep. I have trillions of box dyes upstairs – you can choose any colour you like,’ he says, and I look over at Jimin who grins, nodding encouragingly.

A few minutes later, I’m sat on a stool in Tae’s lavish bathroom, a towel resting over my shoulders as I inspect the boxes laid out on the counter in front of me, Taehyung and Jimin stood behind me as Coco and Tan play in Tae’s bedroom (they seem to be the best of friends now). ‘I’m thinking I shouldn’t go too wild considering it’ll be my funeral in a little while and my parents will probably want an open casket,’ I say musingly, Taehyung choking on air as Jimin holds back a smile.

‘Good idea. Maybe… highlights or ombre rather than the whole head?’ Jimin suggests, and I nod, feeling a little more at ease at not having to take the full plunge. ‘Okay… what colour then?’ Taehyung asks, and I look at all the colours. ‘Um… I don’t know. It’s really difficult,’ I say a little timidly, both boys nodding reassuringly, trying to give me a little more confident. ‘You’re right, it is difficult. How about… two platinum blonde streaks at the front of your hair?’ Taehyung asks, and I nearly choke.

‘Blonde streaks… like an e-girl?’ I ask, and Tae laughs, nodding. ‘It’s on trend, and I think you’ll be able to pull it off really well,’ Tae says thoughtfully, and whilst I’m still not convinced, Jimin nods excitedly. ‘Yes, that’d look amazing! Go on, y/n, you should!’ Jimin urges, eyes locked with mine in the mirror, and I sigh before nodding with a small smile. ‘Why not? Go for it,’ I say, the two of them exchanging a grin.

Before I know it, the front sections of my hair have been bleached and foiled, and a timer has been set for 20 minutes. And Jimin is contemplating dyeing his own hair. ‘I mean, I’ve had black for so long, and I need a change, right? I’ve been wanting to go bright for a while. But do I go a natural bright, or a colourful bright?’ he muses, Tae fake yawning at him in the mirror, coaxing a giggle from me, but Jimin doesn’t notice, too busy inspecting the dye boxes.

‘If it helps, I liked it when you went blond at school. You look nice blond,’ I say, and he looks at me in the mirror with a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘Bright blond, or platinum blond, or dirty blond?’ he asks, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘bright blond.’ ‘Okay, let’s go bright blond then,’ he says instantly, disappearing off to get a towel from Tae’s airing cupboard.

‘That was… interesting,’ Tae says with a smirk at me in the mirror, and I look back at him confusedly. ‘How so?’ ‘He never takes anyone’s advice when it comes to his hair dye. And he never decides that quick,’ he says, his smirk even wider, but Jimin reappears before I can reply. I try to shake off Tae’s words as Jimin looks for the right box dye.

‘Maybe I should dye my hair too,’ Tae says, looking at his blue locks in the mirror. ‘I like you with brown hair, Tae. I’d like it if you had brown hair at my funeral,’ I say, and his eyes widen slightly at the mention of it again. ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. We should all have natural colours for the funeral, out of respect,’ Jimin says, and I frown. ‘No, I don’t mind if you guys had the craziest colours ever. I just think you look so… classically handsome with brown hair, Tae,’ I say, and he looks smug at my compliment. ‘Okay,’ he grins, reaching for a box dye, Jimin and I exchanging a look in the mirror as he says, ‘guess I’m going brown then.’

‘When did you go brown, Tae? And you blond, Jimin?’ a voice suddenly says, making all three of us jump. There’s a man stood on Taehyung’s front garden, and I remember him as Jung Hoseok from school. He was cute back then, but he’s handsome now with his golden skin and his silky brown hair. ‘About… 90 minutes ago,’ Taehyung says, currently drawing what looks like a heart but could also be an alien, and Hoseok nods as though it’s perfectly normal.

‘Hey, y/n. Your hair looks nice,’ Hoseok says, shooting a heart-shaped smile at me, and I smile back. I’m still not used to my hair being blonde when it falls into my face, but it does look nice – Tae and Jimin did a good job. ‘Hey, Hoseok. Thank you. Tae and Jimin did it.’ ‘Please, call me Hobi. Anyway, how are you?’ he says before wincing, obviously already aware of my situation. Jimin really can’t keep his mouth shut. ‘I’m okay. How are you?’ I ask, and he nods, replying, ‘I’m good. Excited to work on this list.’ ‘Well, get some chalk and get your ass down here to help us,’ Jimin says from where he’s sprawled out on the gravel, drawing a dog (or attempting to, anyway).

We’ve been working on the chalk for just over an hour, listening to music from Taehyung’s speaker that’s sat in the doorway (Coco and Tan have already knocked it over several times whilst they’ve been playing). Bright chalk covers nearly all of Taehyung and Namjoon’s driveway – except for where Tae and Jimin’s cars are – rainbows, flowers, hearts, clouds surrounding us (as well as a bunny, a pineapple, a unicorn, a slice of watermelon and Jimin’s dog).

‘It looks like you’re nearly done,’ Hoseok observes, and I nod, wiping my forehead clean of sweat. ‘Yeah, we are. This isn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be,’ I say frankly, the others all laughing. ‘The fun comes from taking pictures with the chalk,’ Taehyung says, and I get up instantly. ‘Okay, let’s just take pictures and then carry on with the list,’ I say, the three of them laughing again as Jimin and Taehyung get up from the floor.

Taehyung instantly goes into director mode, making me lie down in a gap in the chalk. Jimin stands over me, one foot on either side of my waist, taking pictures on both the camera and his phone whilst Taehyung directs him on how to take them and me on how to pose, Hobi using his phone torch to give us better lighting (it doesn’t make much of a difference, but he’s trying).

I start to feel a little embarrassed, wondering what we must look like to Tae’s neighbours, before I remember that life is short – mine especially – so I should make the most of it without worrying what people think of me. After a few minutes (and a few dozen pictures), I get into it a little more, and the boys all begin hyping me up, Jimin making a few flirty comments here and there.

And then Jimin joins me, Taehyung taking the camera and Hobi directing us (he’s even more… bossy than Taehyung, instructing us down to the simplest things – the positions of our fingers, the direction we look in, the angle of our heads. Everything.)

‘You guys are gonna make her regret asking for help,’ a voice comes from the driveway, all of us looking over to see Namjoon and Jungkook from school stood there, leaning against the Jimin’s car. ‘Watch the car!’ Jimin exclaims, both of them heading over. ‘Just for the record, I didn’t ask for help. Jimin forc- I mean, Jimin volunteered his help,’ I say, correcting myself when he shoots me a dirty look, the others laughing.

‘It’s good to see you guys again. Did you walk here?’ I ask, and Namjoon nods. ‘It’s good to see you too. Jungkook picked me up from work, and then we dropped his car off and walked here. We all live really close to each other. Jimin, Jungkook and Hobi live on the road up there, and Jin and Yoongi live on the road down that way,’ Namjoon points, and I nod, thinking how sweet it is that they all live so close together.

‘JK, the blue’s gonna have to go,’ Tae says to the baby of their group. He’s changed more than all of them; he still has his big eyes and his cute bunny teeth, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s so handsome, and his body is lean and tall. Not as tall as Namjoon, though; he always was tall, but he’s grown even more now, and he’s gorgeous, with his dimples and blond hair. It’s like only beautiful people are allowed in their friendship group.

‘What?’ Jungkook asks, confused, his eyes wide. ‘You need to dye your hair brown again,’ Tae says, Jungkook frowning. ‘Why? I’ve only been blue for a couple days. Don’t you like it?’ ‘It looks great, but we’re all going natural out of respect, for y/n’s funeral,’ Jimin says casually, Jungkook choking and Namjoon slapping his back with wide eyes. ‘Jimin. You can’t just drop it in like that,’ Hobi reprimands, but I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, I’d prefer if we just spoke about it normally. Anyway, you don’t have to go brown, Jungkook, it’s okay,’ I say, Jungkook nodding, still looking a little shell-shocked.

‘Can we get up now?’ I say to Hobi from where I’m lying on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimin, and he shakes his head. ‘If you want to make a scrapbook, you can’t just have pictures of you and Jimin in it. You need to get pictures with all of us,’ he says simply, and I bite my tongue, knowing I’ll just have to suck it up. Twenty minutes later, I’ve taken several pictures with all of the boys, and it was a little fun, I guess. We’ll have run out of film by the end of the day at this rate.

But my head’s starting to hurt a little, and I know I can’t take anymore. ‘Can we stop now? I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, sitting up, and they all look a little worried. ‘Is it from being under the sun for so long?’ Hobi asks, nervously, but Tae speaks before I can reply; ‘no, it’s probably the hair dye.’ Jimin looks at them both incredulously. ‘I think it’s the tumour in her brain,’ he says slowly, and I can’t help but share his exasperation at their stupid suggestions, the boys all falling into a shocked silence as Jimin looks to me with thinly-veiled amusement.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right, Jimin, it probably is,’ I say, holding back a laugh. ‘Do you want some painkillers?’ Tae asks weakly, and I smile, shaking my head. ‘I’m okay, thanks. I might just have a little lie-down, if that’s okay?’ I ask, Tae nodding straight away. ‘I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and you can have a shower, or a nap, if you want?’ Tae suggests as Hobi and Jimin help me up, my head dizzy and light, and I nod. ‘That sounds perfect.’

I blink in the slices of soft sunlight that fall between the blinds onto the bed, sitting up carefully. My head feels a lot better after that nap, which was the best nap of my life, by the way. Tae and Joon must be seriously rich, because this bed is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. And the room is super lavish, monochrome and clean, with a deep carpet and expensive looking furnishings. The bathroom was nice too, and I dragged out my shower a lot longer than usual, my skin smelling fresh with Tae and Namjoon’s expensive passionfruit body wash.

I slowly climb out of the bed, looking at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror on the wall opposite me. I still can’t get used to the hair, but it does look good. Tae has good taste, and he and Jimin put the dye in really well – the front sections of my hair are the perfect vibrant blonde. Tae put all these different haircare products in it after he washed out the dye, and it feels healthier than ever before. It’s obvious he’s dyed his hair plenty, because he’s clearly an expert. He could be a hairdresser if he wanted to.

I open my suitcase and get out a bralet to put on (my pyjamas are satin, and I’d rather not have my nipples visible through them in a room full of childhood friends I haven’t seen for years) and put it on beneath my black button-up pyjama shirt. I quickly splash some water over my face to wake myself up a little before I head downstairs, following the loud voices that lead me into the kitchen. Namjoon’s stood at the counter, making coffee, Jungkook, Jimin, Tae and Hobi sat around the breakfast bar with two new arrivals; Yoongi, and Seokjin. Seokjin literally hasn’t aged a day, and he’s somehow even more handsome than he was back then, with his plump lips and swept back dark hair.

‘Sleeping beauty awakes!’ Jimin exclaims when he sees me walk in, and I smile softly, still a little sleepy. His blond hair really does look good, the perfect summer colour, and Tae’s looks really good too – the dark brown locks make him look like a model. ‘y/n! They were right, you really are gorgeous!’ Jin exclaims, jumping up and pulling me into a hug, and I try to supress the embarrassment I’m feeling at them talking about me, and telling Jin I’m gorgeous. One thing I remember about Jin was that he never used to feel embarrassed, at anything. Sometimes he’d get a little shy, and his ears would go red, but he’d never hesitate to do something, even if it was embarrassing, if it would help to ease any awkwardness and make people feel comfortable.

His hugging me, despite us barely speaking when we went to school together and not having seen each other for years, is just what I need, and a perfect example of how kind Jin is.

‘Thanks, Jin, but look at you! You’re really handsome,’ I say honestly, feeling at ease after his hug, and he grins at me. ‘You didn’t call me handsome, y/n, but you called Tae and Jin handsome,’ Jimin pouts, and I roll my eyes at him. ‘She knows Tae and I are the best-looking, that’s why,’ Jin says, and Jimin scowls at him before looking back at me, still waiting for an answer. ‘Just because I didn’t say it out loud, doesn’t mean I didn’t think it,’ I say matter-of-factly, and he grins proudly. ‘What about the rest of us?’ Hobi asks, all of them flashing smiles at me, and I blink a few times. ‘You’re all handsome. Now stop smiling at me before I faint,’ I say, all of them laughing.

‘Coffee, y/n?’ Namjoon asks, but I shake my head. ‘I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake. Thanks, though,’ I say, and Jimin frowns. ‘y/n, it’s not like it matters,’ Jimin says, everyone wincing, and I laugh, nodding in agreement. ‘You’re right. I will have some, please, Namjoon,’ I say, everyone laughing again as Namjoon nods with a smile, getting another mug out for me. ‘Sit down, y/n,’ Tae says, patting the empty seat between him and Jungkook, and I sit in it, feeling a little self-conscious. I’m in my pyjamas, with no makeup and slight bedhead, and they’re all just… so handsome.

‘What do you guys do? For you all to be at home at… 5.38 on a Wednesday?’ I say, reading the time on the clock. I have all of the boys on social media, so I vaguely know some of what goes on in their lives, but not much. It’s hard to keep track of everyone from school. ‘Um, I own my own photography business. We do photography for weddings, parties, photo shoots, etc. and we’ve had some pretty high-profile clients, so we’re quite successful. And I do some art on the side, and some of my paintings have sold well, hence the fancy house. I get to work from home most of the time, because I mainly do editing – I’ve hired photographers, but I do a couple weddings here and there,’ Tae says, and I’m impressed, though not surprised. Tae always did have a talent for art, and he was the photographer for the school newspaper, so this career is perfect for him.

‘I own my own dance studio, and we only open on Monday and Tuesday 6-9, Thursday 3-6, and then Saturdays and Sundays,’ Hoseok says and, again, I’m not surprised; Hoseok always loved his dancing and he put more effort into dance than into his school work, but I guess it paid off.

‘I work for Hobi and Tae. I teach classes every day that it’s open, and then I do some photography work every couple weeks. And I do some shifts here and there at a tattoo shop,’ Jungkook says, and I think it’s really cute that he works for his friends, though I wonder if it sparks any arguments between them. I look at Jimin when Jungkook mentions the tattoo shop, and Jimin grins with a little nod, my stomach turning. Obviously, he was referring to where Jungkook works when he said he knew the perfect place for me to get a tattoo.

‘I do all the finances and admin and paperwork for Tae and Hobi, and I work for a small record label, producing and rapping,’ Namjoon says as he puts my coffee down in front of me, and I thank him with a smile, quite surprised to hear Namjoon’s career choice. To be fair, Namjoon excelled in all of his subjects, so he’d be good at whatever he chose to do.

‘I’m a part-time chef at this restaurant in the city, and I’m also studying to become an actor,’ Jin says, and I’m impressed. I didn’t know Jin was interested in cooking or in acting, but now that I look at him, he really does look like an actor, and I could imagine him as a chef too, with one of those big white hats.

‘I’m a barista, as you know, I teach a couple piano lessons a week, and I do some rapping and producing at the same company as Namjoon,’ Yoongi explains, and I remember how good he was at piano. He was chosen to play at one of these awards’ evenings we had at school, and we were all so impressed at how good he was. Rapping, though? I never knew he could rap.

Everyone looks at Jimin to answer, but he looks back blankly before saying, ‘I already told her my job.’ They all nod before looking back at me. ‘What do you do, y/n?’ Jin asks, and I roll my eyes. ‘I work part-time as an assistant at a law firm, and I’m studying to become a lawyer. Or I was anyway,’ I trail off, a little sad that I’ll never be able to do my dream job, and the boys all give me pitying looks. Except for Jimin, who says, ‘damn, y/n, you’re clever. Law student, huh?’ I nod with a smile, and he grins. ‘You could’ve got in on the family businesses, and done all the boring legal shit for us,’ Jimin says, and I grimace, internally endeared at him calling them the family businesses. ‘I’d have passed. Sorry,’ I say, the boys all laughing.

‘Okay, enough chit chat. Let’s carry on with your list,’ Jin says, picking it up from where it sits in the middle of the island, and I take a sip of my coffee. ‘Should I wash the chalk from your driveway?’ I ask Tae and Joon, and they both shake their heads. ‘I was about to, but Jin stopped me. He wants some pictures with you and the chalk,’ Tae says, and I let out a sigh, all them laughing. ‘We’ve literally spent all of our time on the chalk so far. Your four days are gonna fly by,’ I say to Jimin, who waves it off with an easy grin.

‘Stop trying to worry me. Four days is plenty. You go take some pictures with Jin, and Yoongi, while I set up the next thing for us to tick off,’ Jimin says, getting up and pulling me off my seat, pushing me towards the door. ‘Make sure you get plenty of good pictures,’ Jimin says to Tae with a mischievous glance at me, who nods, and I roll my eyes. ‘We’re gonna run out of film,’ I say, but Jimin shakes his head with a grin. ‘I went out whilst you were asleep and got some more supplies, including a few more boxes of film,’ he grins, and I let out a deep sigh as Tae and Jin drag me outside, Yoongi trailing behind, and Jimin waving at us from the doorway.

‘Done with your photoshoot?’ Jimin asks as we walk into the living room. ‘Yes, thank God,’ I say, throwing myself down onto the sofa. ‘Jin, you’re way too demanding. We were out there for forty-five minutes,’ Yoongi says, flopping down next to me, and Jin scowls at us from the doorway. ‘Tae wasn’t getting my angles!’ he exclaims, and Tae’s eyes widen. ‘You’re not blaming this on me. I own a photography business, so don’t accuse me of being a bad photographer,’ Tae says, Jin opening his mouth to speak, but Jimin interrupts; ‘don’t argue. y/n’s dying.’

They go silent, and I burst out laughing as Jimin grins at me. ‘You can’t drop that into every conversation, Jimin,’ I laugh, the others relaxing a little, and Jimin shrugs. ‘I can. Just watch. Anyway, before you get comfy, we need to go into the dining room,’ he says vaguely with a knowing grin, and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I don’t want to, because of that look on your face,’ I say suspiciously, and he laughs. ‘Come on, y/n, we gotta tick the next thing off your list,’ Jimin says amusedly, holding a hand out to me, and I take it after a moment of hesitation, letting him pull me up. He doesn’t let go of my hand, dragging me behind him into the dining room, and it takes a little while for me to register what’s going on.

The table is set up with these different machines, and Jungkook sits at the table with an empty seat beside him, a lamp set up to cast a bright light onto the empty chair. And then I spot the little book on the table, sat beside a bunch of needles lined up on a small white sheet.

Jungkook’s about to give me a tattoo.

‘Oh, hell no,’ I say, turning around, but Jimin grabs me around the waist before I can walk away, picking me up and carrying me over to the door as I struggle around in his arms, the other boys watching amusedly. But Jimin’s freakishly strong, and my struggling doesn’t work. He puts me down in the empty chair, and I pout at him before looking around at the others. Tae, Jin and Yoongi are stood in one doorway, blocking it, and Namjoon and Hobi stand in the other, blocking that too. I literally cannot leave, and when I look down at the needles, my stomach turns.

‘Do you want to look through the book?’ Jungkook asks gently, and I sigh. ‘Not really,’ I say, all of them laughing as he hands me the book, and I flip through it. ‘Can you all stop looking at me? Or at least put on some music so I don’t feel so tense,’ I say, more laughter rippling around the room as Taehyung gets his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple times, gentle RnB music floating out into the room from the ceiling. They must have a built-in sound system – their house really is boujee.

I scan the book and some of the designs are cute, but none of them really stand out to me. ‘Struggling to choose one?’ Jungkook asks quietly, the others having conversations between themselves, and I nod. He rolls up his sleeve, and shows me the various tattoos that cover his arm and hand. He has a flower, a skeleton hand, the word ‘Truth’, the woozy emoji, a purple heart, a little crown and some black stripes with various numbers and letters on his hand. ‘They all stand for different things. Like, for example, this is the tiger flower, which is my birth flower, and the letters all stand for the guys. So you could get some that are meaningful to you, or you could just get something that you think looks pretty. It’s up to you,’ he says, and I nod, thinking.

I decide on getting my birth flower, a little bolt of lightning and my parents’ initials. ‘Why don’t you get something summer related?’ Jimin suggests softly, and I think before nodding. ‘Like… the sun, or something?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘Whatever you want. You could get a picture or a quote, anything you want. It’s up to you, y/n. It’s your body,’ he says, and I nod, thinking about the first idea I had for a tattoo when I wrote that list. ‘How about ‘we’ll always have summer’… or is that silly?’ I ask, and Jungkook shakes his head straight away.

‘Of course it isn’t silly,’ he says, but Jimin looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Who’s we?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘I don’t know. A general ‘we’, I guess? Like… as bleak as life gets, as boring, as sad, as hard as life is, there’s always the hope, the promise, the excitement of summer. So no matter what happens, we’ll always have summer,’ I explain, Jungkook’s eyes widening, and Jimin nodding at me with a small smile. ‘Wow, that’s so deep, y/n. You’re so clever,’ Jungkook says, and I laugh, waving it off.

‘Have you decided yet?’ Hobi asks, and I nod, feeling a little nervous. ‘I’m getting my birth flower, a bolt of lightning, my parents’ initials, and ‘we’ll always have summer’. What do you think?’ I ask, and Hobi smiles, looking impressed. ‘You’re getting four?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘Might as well.’ ‘Where do you want them?’ Jungkook asks, and I hesitate. ‘Where does it hurt least?’ ‘Your ass,’ Jimin says with a grin, and I swat at him whilst the others all laugh. ‘The least painful is usually your back, the outside of your arms, the inside of your forearm and the outsides of your thighs. Hands aren’t too bad, and nor are shoulders,’ Jungkook explains.

After a lot of deliberation, we make the decision as a group of where I should have them; birth flower on my inner forearm, my parents’ initials on my right ring finger, the lightning bolt on the side of my ribcage/side-boob, and the quote on the back of my left shoulder. ‘How long will it take, Jungkook?’ I ask as Jungkook sets up all his equipment, the others arguing about what we should have for dinner. ‘Please, call me JK, or Kook, or whatever. And, it shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, because they’re all quite small. The quote will take the longest, and I can usually do quotes in an hour and a half, so I’d say… three hours, maybe three and a half?’ he says, and I feel dread at the thought of being in pain for that long. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.

‘Are you still not done?’ Taehyung demands as he enters the room, Jungkook’s eyes still fixed on my finger as he sighs. ‘Relax, I’m doing the last one now. I’ll be done in a few minutes,’ he says, and Tae huffs. ‘You’re taking ages. We want to do the next thing on her list.’ ‘Don’t rush me, Tae. Tattooing is an art,’ Jungkook says calmly, Tae rolling his eyes from behind Jungkook’s back, and I hold back a laugh.

It actually wasn’t that painful, surprisingly. The worst thing was having to stay still for so long. He started with my birth flower, and it was fascinating to watch the ink appear on my skin, at first. The fascination soon wore off, and I was itching to move, but I knew I’d just ruin it if I did.

Then he moved onto the quote. I had to tie my hair up into a bun and sit backwards on a chair whilst he did it, and Jimin fed me some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, keeping me entertained with his stupid antics. Jin tried to feed Jungkook, but when he choked Jungkook with a chopstick, Jungkook decided he’d just eat afterwards.

And then he did my lightning bolt. I had to take off my top and unclasp my bra, holding it in place with my arm out of the way so Jungkook could get to my side-boob easily, and I told the boys that none of them could come in whilst he was doing that one, because the bra kept slipping. Jungkook was very professional though, and I can’t even imagine how many boobs he’s seen over his time working as a tattoo artist.

And now he’s doing my fingers. I’m used to the stinging pain now, and I’m very proud of myself for not crying. Tae shows me some funny videos on his phone whilst Jungkook carries on with the tattoo. ‘And… done!’ he exclaims, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. I look at my hand, pleased with how the tattoo looks. ‘Thank you, JK, it’s great.’ ‘No problem. Right… let me give you the aftercare speech,’ he says as he begins to put the weird jelly stuff and a bandage onto my finger. It’s weird how professional he is – I saw him passed out drunk at house parties more times than I can remember, and now he’s giving me tattoos and telling me how to look after them properly.

‘Don’t remove these bandages for 24 hours, and when you do, wash the tattoos, gently, with an unscented soap and water, and pat it dry afterwards. Put on some of this ointment twice a day, if you can, but you don’t need to put on another bandage. Wash them a few times a day, gently, with unscented soap and water, and always pat them dry, and then put on an unscented sensitive skin moisturiser. Obviously, you’re going to tick those things off your bucket list, and I’m sure a couple involve being in the water and sun. We usually advise against being in the water and sun, but obviously, you’re not going to do that, so just don’t be in the sun for too long, and put plasters over them when you go in the water, to try and stop them being infected. It’s not really that big of a deal if they do get infected because…’ ‘I’m dying anyway.’ ‘Yeah, that. So don’t worry about it too much, but just try your best to be careful with them. Oh, and don’t go into hot water, if you can help it. Have cool showers, and not for too long, either. I think that’s it, but if you have any questions, just get my number from Jimin and text or call me. Do you have any questions now?’

‘Only one; would you rather I transferred you the money, or do you want cash?’ ‘y/n, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not charging you,’ he says as though it’s obvious, and I frown. ‘Jungkook.’ ‘No, y/n, I’m not taking money from you.’ ‘Why not? I haven’t got anything else to spend it on, remember? And it’s taken you ages!’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any money from you, and that’s it. I do free tattoos for the boys all the time – Jimin’s got several from me. Just see it as a gift from an old friend,’ he says simply, with a grin, and I can’t help the small smile on my face. ‘Thank you, JK,’ I say, and he grins even wider, his cute little bunny teeth on display. ‘No problem, y/n.’

‘Are you done now? Can we move on to the next thing?’ Tae says excitedly, Jungkook nodding with a laugh at his eagerness. ‘Come on, then,’ Tae says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, dragging me out of the dining room. He leads me towards the back door, pushing it open and moving aside to let me out first, and I gasp when I see the garden. ‘I know it’s not that big but it’s the best I could do,’ Jimin says as I slip on the sliders that he puts down on the floor in front of me, stepping out onto the light wood decking.

Tae and Namjoon’s garden is beautiful – it’s obvious at least one of the two loves gardening. The decking has steps down onto the grass which is healthy and neat, a dark, rich green, and there are trees and flowers of all different colours lining the light wood fence that runs around the garden. Fairy lights are strung up around the fence, casting a warm yellow glow across the space and there’s a fire pit in the middle of the garden, a small fire inside it with a garden furniture set placed around it, four armchairs and two two-seaters.

‘Oh, my God, this is great! Did you already have a fire pit?’ I ask Tae who shakes his head. ‘Jimin went out to buy one earlier,’ he says, and I look to Jimin with a frown. ‘You shouldn’t have. Let me give you the money for it,’ I say, and he shakes his head before I even finish speaking. ‘I don’t think so. Come on,’ he says, holding out an arm to me, and I take it with a begrudging smile. He leads me down the decking steps, across the grass to the bonfire and he sits down in an armchair as I sit in the two-seater beside it, Tae and JK following behind, the leftovers of the Chinese food in Jungkook’s hands.

‘Where are the others?’ I ask, and Jimin looks a little sheepish. ‘I, um, went to get supplies when you were sleeping, right? Well, I bought the fire pit, but I forgot all the other stuff,’ he explains, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, and I hold back a laugh. ‘What other stuff?’ I ask, just as Jin and Hobi appear through the back door. ‘The biscuits, the chocolate, the marshmallows, the roasting sticks. Everything else,’ Jin says exasperatedly, the two of them coming to join us.

‘Where are the other two?’ Tae asks as they take their seats, Jin taking a prawn cracker from Jungkook’s lap, the boy shooting him a dirty look. ‘Putting the stuff onto plates for us, because a couple of us are too messy and, apparently, we’ll drop melted marshmallows and chocolate onto the grass and ruin it,’ Hobi says with a roll of his eyes, and I have a feeling he’s quoting Namjoon. ‘Am I wrong, though? There’s still the patch of grass that’s discoloured after Jimin spilled beer on it!’ Namjoon exclaims, holding blankets in his arms, Yoongi following behind with a tray in his hands, paper plates atop the tray. ‘How many times do I have to apologise for ruining your grass before you forget?’ Jimin asks tiredly as Namjoon and Yoongi take their seats, and Namjoon gives him a hard look. ‘As many times as it takes for the grass to return to its proper colour,’ Namjoon says, and I can feel an argument brewing so I quickly change the subject.

‘Shall we get a picture?’ I ask, not realising that another argument is about to start, over who’s going to take the picture. ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been arguing for five minutes! Just let me take the picture!’ Yoongi exclaims (after five minutes of arguing), his annoyance only half-hearted, and I pout. ‘No, Yoongi, I want you in the picture. I want us all in the picture,’ I say, Jin sighing and grabbing his temples before sending Namjoon to ask their nice neighbour, Mr Lee. I feel bad for disturbing him at 9.09pm on a Wednesday, but they insist. It’s more than a little awkward when he starts asking questions and Jimin says with a grin, ‘we’re ticking off y/n’s summer bucket list because she’s got a brain tumour and she’s going to die in a week.’ It’s like he can’t take the pictures quick enough after that, practically sprinting out of the garden once he’s done.

Yoongi gives us all our plates, Jungkook balancing his on one knee whilst he eats his Chinese food, and I feel pretty stupid when all of them instantly know how to put their s’mores together. ‘Have you never had s’mores before?’ Jimin asks, and I shake my head sheepishly. ‘Here, let me show you. You gotta just put a marshmallow on a stick,’ he says, and I copy the way he spears it on the stick. ‘Then you hold it over the fire for a little while, until it goes a bit brown, and then turn it over the other way,’ he says, holding his stick over the fire, and I do the same, turning it the other way once it’s browned a little. ‘And then you get a piece of chocolate and put it on top of a biscuit. And then you put the marshmallow on top of that. And then you put a piece of chocolate on top of the marshmallow, and another biscuit on top of the chocolate. Then you take it off the stick and… you got your s’more!’ he says, holding his s’more up with a flourish. It looks a lot neater than mine, but I’m still proud of myself for managing to not set fire to anything. ‘Just wait a little for it to cool down. Kook learned that the hard way,’ Jimin says pointedly, the other boy pursing his lips embarrassedly as we all laugh.

The sky is still high and light with clouds, though the sun has disappeared over the horizon, the moon a pale white circle against the soft blue. The air is still warm, but not with the humidity of earlier today, a cool tinge to the breeze that glides across my skin. It’s the perfect summer evening, made even better by the light conversations we have and the alcohol that Taehyung brings out for us – Jimin, Yoongi and Jin drink their soju like it’s going out of fashion, Jungkook, Namjoon and Hobi nursing beers instead whilst Tae and I sip on our Malibu and coke (very little Malibu actually in it). The s’mores are amazing, the warm gooey marshmallow, rich melty chocolate and crunchy sweet biscuits a perfect combination – whoever came up with s’mores is an actual genius.

‘Do you want some more s’mores, y/n?’ Hobi asks once my plate is empty, and I groan, the boys all laughing. ‘I think I’ll explode if I have another. I’ve eaten more today than I have in the last week,’ I say, clutching my stomach. ‘I’ll have one, Hobi,’ Jungkook says with a cheeky grin, and Hobi shoots him a glare, no real venom in it. ‘Get yourself one.’ ‘You offered to y/n!’ ‘You’re not dying in a week,’ Hobi says, eyes instantly flitting to me to see if I mind, but I’m already bursting into laughter, my head falling onto Jin’s shoulder which is shaking from his laughter too.

‘Are we terrible for joking about death?’ Jungkook says once we’ve all calmed down, and I sigh. A cold breeze rushes past us, biting at my skin, and I shiver, pulling my blanket closer around me and shuffling forward in my seat so I sit closer to the bonfire. It’s gotten so much cooler so quickly, all of us wrapped up in blankets. ‘What can we do but joke about it? I think I’d cry if we didn’t,’ I say into the silence, the boys all just listening as I stare into the flickering flames, deeply inhaling the smoky scent in the air.

‘It still doesn’t feel real. How do you prepare yourself for death?’ I ask, voice a little shaky, and Jin puts a hand on my shoulder gently. ‘I wish we could tell you, y/n, and make it easier for you, but it will never be easy to see someone of your age die. Old people, who have lived their lives, they can prepare for death. I don’t think you can. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. We all are,’ he says softly, his kind words bringing a sad smile to my face. ‘Thank you. Thank you all, for doing all this today, and Namjoon and Taehyung, for opening your home to me,’ I say, all of them reflecting my sad smile back at me.

‘We’d have done it even if you weren’t dying, y/n. Please, don’t think we’re only doing this because you’re dying. We’ve all known each other since we were kids. And look at all you did for us. We’d have done all of this for you regardless of your health if you asked us to,’ Namjoon says, and I look at him in confusion, wondering what he means. ‘What did I do for all of you?’ ‘We were talking about this whilst you were asleep. Remember when I was riding my bike past your house, and I fell off it?’ Namjoon asks, the others laughing at the mention, and all of a sudden, a memory I didn’t even know I had appears in my mind.

We must’ve been around 7; I don’t remember what I was doing, but I saw Namjoon on the floor outside of my house through the window, clutching onto his knee with his bike beside him. I ran and got the plasters from where they were in one of the kitchen cupboards, and practically sprinted outside. I sat down on the floor beside Namjoon, and there were tears in his eyes, and his knee was bloody. Not knowing that you’re supposed to clean a cut and disinfect it, I’d just put a plaster on for him, and then my parents saw what was going on, and took Namjoon inside to properly clean the cut, me following them in with his bike in my arms, and then they phoned his mum to let her know what had happened. Our school was a tight knit community and all the parents were friends with each other – they all had each other’s phone numbers.

‘How do you remember that?’ I ask, smiling at the memory, and he grins. ‘It’s the first act of kindness I remember experiencing. And it might have been simple, but it taught me to be kind, and do things for people when I didn’t have to, because that’s what you did for me,’ he says, and then all of the boys share the stories of things I did for them over the years we went to school together.

For Jin, I’d lost one of his crayons and then I’d brought in a whole new pack for him. When his mum mentioned it to my parents and thanked them for buying Jin a new pack, they’d had been confused; they hadn’t bought a new set of crayons. I’d taken in one of my own sets for him without telling them. Jin brought it into school every day and shared it with me and only me, and wrote both of our names on the packaging so that everyone would know that they belonged to the both of us.

For Yoongi, I’d recorded his piano performance at the awards’ evening because I’d overheard his mum saying she’d forgotten her video camera at home and didn’t have a smart phone to record it on. I’d sent it to him that night, letting him know why I’d recorded it, and he’d thanked me before showing his mum. I never knew this at the time, but apparently she was so happy that she cried, and made Yoongi give me a present to thank me. I didn’t know that Yoongi was the one who put the thank you card in my locker with a necklace in it a couple weeks later – he’d been too shy to give it to me face to face (I’d been so confused, wondering who was thanking me and for what). I still wear the necklace sometimes – it’s a silver chain with a little butterfly pendant that rests between my collarbones.

For Hobi, I’d spotted a random bag in the school car park, and checked the belongings to see that it was Hobi’s – his wallet had been in there, along with a load of money and some dance clothes. I’d brought it in the next day and gave it to him, and he’d thanked me profusely. What I didn’t know at the time was that his mum had worked multiple jobs in order to fund his dancing, including buying him all that dance gear, and that he’d thought that someone would’ve stolen it all because they were worth a lot, as well as stealing his wallet. But instead, it’d been returned back to him, with everything still in there.

For Taehyung, I’d been the only one to say I liked his drawing, back when we were little kids. It was of a little alien cartoon character, with a heart shaped head (the same thing he’d been drawing in chalk on the driveway earlier), and everyone else laughed at him and called it silly and said it looked nothing like the real cartoon. But when I told him it was nice and that I thought it was really good, it made him want to draw it more, before he started drawing other things too, and his passion for art had been sparked, all because of a little compliment from me when we could barely write our names.

For Jungkook, I’d been helping clean Dahyun’s house after her house party, and I found him passed out in the upstairs bathroom. I got Dahyun to help me get him into my car, drove him home (I knew his address from a party he’d had once), used his house keys to get him in his house, helped him lie down on the sofa, forced him to drink some water and then left a note beside a full bottle of water to letting him know who’d dropped him off at home. And then I’d locked up after myself and posted the keys through the letterbox. His mum had phoned my parents the next day to thank me profusely, and brought over some cupcakes – they were amazing, by the way.

And for Jimin, maybe the most important of them all – I’d done my end-of-year presentation on eating disorders. We had to do the presentations for our language grade, to show that we could speak with fluency and precision and accuracy, and we were told to do it on an interesting topic so that we would be motivated to write an engaging presentation. Almost everyone else did theirs on superficial things, like their hobby or their favourite celebrity. Mine was one of the only serious ones. Everyone had praised mine – I always was good at language – and I got one of the highest two grades (Namjoon and I competed for the top of the class in every lesson we had together). But what I didn’t know was that, thanks to my presentation, Jimin realised he had an eating disorder. He was virtually starving himself, not eating for days at a time, whilst over exercising, because he hated the way his body looked. And because of the helplines and websites I put at the end of the presentation, he sought help, and spoke to his parents about it. He went to the doctor with his mother, and they put him on a diet plan to get him back to being healthy. I helped him to be healthy again.

My eyes are teary when Jimin finishes speaking. I’m so touched that he remembers, that they all remember the acts of kindness I did for them. And whilst Jimin’s was unintentional, it was still so important, and I’m proud of young me for deciding to do her presentation on a serious topic. I’m proud of her for being such a kind person all the time. This truly is karma – I did these nice things for them back then and they’re repaying that kindness back to me when I need it most. And then I realise why Jimin was so desperate to help me – he just wants to help me like I helped him.

‘So, really, y/n, don’t thank us. We owe you,’ Namjoon says, all of them nodding in agreement, and I beam at them, tears beginning to spill down my face. ‘Don’t cry, because you’ll make me cry!’ Jungkook shrieks, all of us laughing as Jin hands me a tissue, and I dab the tears away. ‘God, what’s wrong with me? I never cry this much usually,’ I say embarrassedly, and Jimin grins. ‘Don’t be embarrassed about crying. I think I’d have cried out all of the water in my body if I were you,’ Jimin says, coaxing a laugh from me. ‘Me, too,’ Jungkook says, sniffling a little, and we all burst into laughter when we see that his eyes are full of tears. ‘My God,’ Jin says, his lip curled up in mock disgust, ‘you really are a cry baby.’ ‘Can you blame me?’ Jungkook asks defensively, wiping his eyes, and Jin’s eyes widen. ‘Yes! You’re not the one dying!’ he exclaims, setting the rest of us off again, our laughter carrying in the cool summer air.

[missblissy]

Can I request Alastor, Katie Killjoy, Tom, and Sir Pentious's reaction to having a small cute boyfriend who easily gets flustered and is clumsy and stutters a lot?

((Thank you for sending in this ask!! It’s my first time writing for a couple of these characters so pls forgive me if they seem off!! I will improve with time QuQ))

Alastor: 

Aren’t you just the cutest god damn thing? Alastor couldn’t help but love to fluster you up. The way your cheeks turned a bright red and your words got cluttered together? Oh, how very entertaining.

It didn’t help that you were shorter than him, it only made it easier to look down at you with a smug grin, eating up those rosy red cheeks.

“Red is a very handsome color on you, my love,” He’d tease often. 

You were a little clumsy, so it was a good thing Alastor was always there to catch you should you trip walking on a flat surface. 

A smooth recovery as Alastor would quickly hook your arm with his and catch you, “Be careful, sweetheart, you don’t want to ruin that face of yours when I can do that for you~” Ugh! He’s just too good! You couldn’t stop the blush from rising to your cheeks and the words from stuttering out of your lips. 

Whenever you got stuck on a word, Alastor would quickly finish your sentence. How did he always know what you were thinking?

You loved that he took the time to spoil you in private. Sure he was a teasing asshole in public, but behind closed doors, he was more of a smooth-talking demon who wanted nothing more than to smother you with kisses and love bites. 

Katie:

She loved that you’re small than her. She finds it utterly adorable. She takes a lot of pride in the way she looks, and she likes that you make her look good.

Though she loves you, that doesn’t save you from her temper when she’s angry. She’s flirtatious in a mean why, “Cat got your tongue, sweetie? Maybe I’ll get it next time~” 

You love that however mean and cranky she gets, there is a hidden softy inside. Katie puts up a strong wall but you can see when she struggles and honestly? She’s glad you can, it feels good that she can let her guard down around you.

When you trip she won’t catch you when you fall. Katie would rather scoff and giggle first, then help you up, “Don’t be so clumsy, dummy. I’m not going to keep picking you up if you keep falling over.” That’s a lie, she always will, but she doesn’t want you to know that. 

Whenever she snaps at you she always apologizes afterward, “Sorry... You just know how stressful everything is. I didn’t mean it.” 

She may make a few jokes about you. About how short you are, the way you talk and seem to be a bit of an airhead but you know she’s just teasing to make your cheeks flushed. She loves that. 

Tom:

Man... You thought you were easily flustered? Think again. Tom is probably the biggest perv around and he lives for reactions. He’s gonna torture you relentlessly with dirty words, sexy and dangerous promises and tempting you with intoxicating situations. 

Tom is already a short person as it is, so you stand only a few inches under him. Though he does enjoy those few inches he has on you, it makes it easier to look down at that pretty red face. 

He’s very nice though, he’s always there to help you back up when you trip or drop something. If you ever get hurt do to your clumsiness, Tom is there to kiss it better and talk sweet nothing to you just to make you smile again.

Ironically, Tom has a weird stuttering fetish?? He honestly just can’t get enough of your choked up words. He finds it cute and tempting at the same time. You’d expect nothing less from him, honestly. 

Sir Pentious: 

If you ordered a clinging cold-blooded reptile, then Sir Pentious is your man. He loves every bit of you. He finds you utterly cute and adorable. He doesn’t tease you a whole lot about anything. Not your clumsiness, the way you stutter or get redder than a tomato when flustered. 

Instead, he just compliments you, “You look ravishing today!” and tells you how much he loves you, “From head to toe, you’re simply perfect! I can’t take my eyes off you,” 

Now, what happens when your easily flustered... and your boyfriend is easily flustered too? Good things, fortunately. Sure there is an awkward silence for a few seconds, but then the next thing you know the two of you are laughing together, red-faced and swimming in love and adoration. 

He catches you a lot with his tail whenever you slip or trip. Same goes for anything that you may drop. He’s quick and agile and always comes to the rescue if he’s close enough. He doesn’t tease you though for being clumsy, he’s just worried that you could have gotten hurt, “Darling, please, watch were you S-s-step. What happens if you get hurt?” 

Though there is one way that Pentious makes you blush hotter than a thousand suns. And that's when you wake up in the morning to see him completely and totally entangled around you. He’d be sleeping away but goddammit it, he looked so cute. His scales glistened in the morning light as you watched him lully in and out of his dreams.

[myaekingheart]

(I saw this trend going around on Facebook and just wanted to do a little something with it for Kakashi + Rei 💕) 

#Valentines Share your story! Valentine’s Day is coming! 

Here’s our story:

How’d you guys meet? “We grew up next door to each other” Kakashi smiled. “Our parents were friends, so we were friends.” 

First Date: “I think our first official date” Rei started, “was Kokana Grill, that super fancy hibachi place.” Her cheeks blushed as she shook her head and laughed. “You were really trying to win me over, weren’t you?” 

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “I just wanted to take you someplace nice is all.” 

How long have you been together: Rei snorted. “Officially, or in general?” she asked. “I’m pretty sure I’ve lost count.” 

Furrowing his brows, Kakashi counted on his fingers before answering, “Six years dating, right?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine” Rei replied. 

Age difference: “I’m two and a half years older” Kakashi replied. 

Who was interested first: Rei and Kakashi blinked and looked at each other quizzically. They honestly weren’t quite sure. “Well, I know I’ve cared about you since I first met you” the Copy Ninja started slowly, “But we were just kids.” 

“I always hoped we’d end up together, even back then” Rei replied. “But I don’t know when I started feeling that way. I think I just always did. But again, we were kids, so it wasn’t quite the same.” 

“Well, when you joined the ANBU” Kakashi continued, “I had feelings for you, but I definitely had a hard time accepting them until that training mission gone south at the Forest of Death.” 

“I think that was when I realized you still cared about me” Rei nodded. “You remembered Aisuruhito, and you looked at me differently that day.” 

Kakashi smiled softly at the memory, then snapped back to reality. “So, to answer your question, I’d say we were both interested at the same time.” 

Who is taller: “Him” Rei grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest and pouting. 

Who said I love you first: “Also him” Rei answered, her face now softening. 

Most impatient: Without a single word, Kakashi pointed to his fiancée. Rei grimaced up at him and slapped him playfully on the arm. 

Most sensitive: “I think the answer to the last question is significant enough evidence for this one” Kakashi joked. 

Loudest: Brushing the long bangs back out of her face, Rei pursed her lips and replied, “One time when I was, like, fourteen, someone called the cops on me because I was too loud and they thought I was being kidnapped. So I’m going to say it’s probably me.” 

Most Stubborn: Kakashi wrapped an arm around Rei as he replied, “Rei is one of the most resilient and steadfast women I’ve ever met. She doesn’t give up no matter what. The fact that she took her lack of support and used it to fuel her progression as a kunoichi, and not only that but progress all the way to captain of the ANBU black ops, is incredibly admirable.” Rei’s cheeks burned as she buried her face in his chest, flattered. 

Falls asleep first: “I feel like it’s probably Kakashi” Rei answered. “But we’re both pretty weird when it comes to sleep.” 

Kakashi nodded. “I think it’s safe to say we both have some insomniac tendencies.” 

Cooks better: “Oh god, absolutely Kakashi” Rei enthused. “He’s tried to teach me his ways but I’ll never be as good in the kitchen as him.” 

Better morning person: “I’d say Kakashi” Rei replied. “He runs late for everything, but he’s way better at getting up early than I am. I’ve overslept so many damn times, sooner or later Lady Tsunade is just going to confiscate the snooze button from me.” 

Most competitive: “Definitely Rei” Kakashi chuckled. “Again, she never gives up until she gets what she wants. She definitely gets heated in battle.” 

Rei tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and averted her gaze. “I mean...I do have to admit that my temper is a little shorter than average.” 

Funniest: “Kakashi is a lot funnier than he gets credit for” Rei replied. “He seems really cool and serious but when we’re alone, he has me in stitches. He’s really good with situational humor.”  

Where do you eat out most as a couple? “Maybe Ichiraku, or that takeout place around the corner” Kakashi replied. 

“Their subuta is really delicious” Rei added. “It’s one of my favorite comfort foods.” 

Who is more social? “We’re both pretty introverted” Rei replied. “We don’t really go out much, unless it’s with Sekkachi and Guy.” 

“I’d say we both have a good amount of friends, though” Kakashi continued. “But with jobs like ours, we make a lot of connections.” 

Who is the neat freak? “I am, admittedly, a total slob” Rei confessed. “I wouldn’t say Kakashi is a neat freak, necessarily, but he definitely does a much better job of keeping our place clean than I do.” 

“You’re getting better, though” Kakashi smiled. “You’ve improved a lot since we moved in together.” 

Where was your first kiss? Kakashi laughed awkwardly. “It was on the roof of our old apartment building” he replied.

“It was all very romantic” Rei laughed. 

Who initiated your first kiss? Rei paused for a moment before hesitantly answering “...Pakkun.” 

“Yeah...all the ninja hounds, really” Kakashi added.

Do you get flowers often? “Sometimes” Rei replied. “I really love flowers, but I also take them a lot more seriously than other girls do, I think.” 

“Rei has this incredible jutsu” Kakashi started, and Rei’s heart swelled at the love in his eyes as he explained. “She tethers others chakras to different plants as a way to keep tabs on her loved ones. Because of the chakra link, the flowers can reflect that person’s morale, so if someone is in danger or sick, the flowers will start to wilt and Rei will know that something is wrong. Likewise, if the flowers are thriving, she’ll know that whoever’s chakra is tethered to that plant is thriving, too.” 

“I don’t do this stuff for just anyone, though” Rei continued. “So I treat flowers really carefully and am really specific on what kinds are assigned to who. Hanakotoba and all that good shit. It’s, uh...it’s kind of complicated, I guess.” 

How long did it take to get serious? “We’ve had some ups and downs” Rei admitted, “But after a brief break-up, I think it was only a few months later that Kakashi proposed.” 

Kakashi nodded, taking Rei’s hand in his. “I knew that I couldn’t afford to lose her ever again.” 

Plans date night? “Definitely Kakashi” Rei replied. “He’s better at sorting everything out than I am. If I had it my way, we’d be ordering takeout in our underwear every night.” 

“Which, by the way” Kakashi interjected, “Is also a very valid dinner plan.” 

Rei rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “You just like any excuse to see me with my pants off.” 

Who picks where you go to dinner? “It’s a mutual decision” Kakashi said. “It depends on what we’re both in the mood for.” 

Who is the first one to admit when they’re wrong? “I’d say Kakashi” Rei replied. “I feel like it can be really hard for me to own up to my mistakes, even if I feel really guilty about fucking shit up.” 

Who wears the pants in the relationship? Rei smirked and shook her head, her cheeks reddening. “If you ask me, I think we both prefer our pants off” she joked. Kakashi’s face turned beet red under his mask. 

Who cries more? “I’d say I do” Rei replied. “I think in general I’m just a lot more emotional, or at least outwardly.” 

Who sings better? “Definitely Kakashi” Rei immediately answered. “He secretly has a great voice.” 

Spends the most? “I think we’re both pretty good about finances” Kakashi said. “There isn’t much we buy for ourselves outside of books.” 

“Though you would spend a ton of money on anything Icha Icha” Rei replied, poking Kakashi playfully in the cheek. 

Did you go to the same school? Rei nodded. “We both went to the academy, but not at the same time. He had already graduated by the time I started.” 

Where is the furthest you two have traveled? “We’ve gone to lots of places for work” Rei replied, “But I can’t really remember the furthest we’ve ever travelled.” 

“It can be hard to keep track” Kakashi admitted.

Read more about Kakashi and Rei in The Scarecrow and the Bell. 

[everythingoesnk]

I love you, John

summary; in the fandom we say brian’s the 5th beatle. well now he’s the 6th bc in this you’re a member of the band. basically you’re in love with john but he’s dating yoko and............. it’s all a disaster

word count; 2 966

warnings; angst at its finest. i’m sorry if u find it trashy but i tried and that’s what counts

********

There was no way you could face this feeling. It damaged your mental health to the point of insufferable anxiety.

Nobody knew about those episodes.

Was it something that you enjoyed, seeing front row how your friendship shattered to useless fragments? Did you look like you didn’t care about how he distanced himself more each time without looking back? Like nothing or no one else mattered? Of course not.

He was alien to the fact he wasn’t the only one suffering.

At least this was the reason you found that made the most sense to his coldness and passively behaviour towards everyone. Or the justification you wanted to believe, refusing to accept that reality was that he didn’t mind everything falling apart.

The tortuous thought that John wanted to see it all reduced to ashes crossed your mind every once in a while.

Paul sighed loudly when he didn’t get any answer from you after calling multiple times. He randomly pounded several piano keys at once, creating a frightening awful sound, then dragged himself to his feet and anxiously left the room.

None of that made you tore your eyes away from John, though.

He was talking to Yoko, who was sitting on the floor beside him, nodding her head as she followed with her gaze what he was pointing at in the music sheet. Occasionally she’d interrupt him to opine. When that happened he would shut up and listen.

John was very polite when asking for thoughts, always open to new ideas and constantly seeking people's opinions on his work.

Ringo’s eyes were glued on you, George noticed, and he knew the drummer was thinking the same exact thing he was. Ringo nodded in his direction and left to find something to eat: you’d been rehearsing for three hours and he hadn't had breakfast in the morning.

"We're all getting used to it"

Outwardly speaking, George's nonchalant-wannabe words had no apparent reaction in you. On the inside, they crushed your soul deeper into misery.

You hummed an ‘approving’ sound to dodge the pressure of having to form a proper sentence.

Concentration back again on tuning the knobs of the guitar, George put his aside on the floor and watched you closely. Then sighed and pressed his lips together.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?”

"The ticking"

Pokerfaced, you stopped your actions to sneak a look at him.

"What ticking?” you asked grimly.

"Yours," he replied, pointing a finger at you. “You’re about to explode”

“We have a comedian in the building, how appropriate” you proclaimed nodding your head at him mockingly.

He grinned and dropped his gaze to the floor before speaking to you again.

“Come with me,” he said, getting up, “I’m craving a smoke”

“I’ll join in a moment. I want to finish writing down a couple of things first”

"Oh yeah?" George wasn’t convinced at all.

He removed a strand of hair from his face. In vain ‘cause it returned shortly to the same place where he’d shoved it away from.

“Yes"

George stared at you, hands on the hips.

Sunk in your seat, you glanced at him too without blinking.

"I’m inspired," you added, one last attempt to make him believe you.

You could try. You could try giving that song you’d been working on a new chance.

"Okay," he nodded, lowering the guard, and kissed your forehead, "you know where to find me"

"Sure, Geo"

You smiled and rapidly shot him a big grin, thumbs held up as well, when he turned around to take a good last look at you before closing the door behind his back.

As soon as he was nowhere around, your smile was found gone.

It was only you, John and Yoko now.

//

It must have been the tenth time that, desperately, you ran your hands through your hair.

Perhaps the problem was you. And you were just exaggerating everything.

But did she have to stick her nose in something that had nothing to do with her?

You didn’t mind her discussing the songs. But never in a million years could you believe she had the ovaries to criticize them. To criticize your work. Paul’s work, George’s and Richie’s work.

Never John’s, though. It must be said to add a little more context to you losing it.

You weren't nosy, but she didn't try to be inconspicuous either.

That bitch’d been talking shit about what she referred to as ‘Ringo’s lame thing’, claiming that Octopus’s Garden was kind of embarrassing and that it didn’t deserve to be on a Beatles record. She didn’t even bother asking about the meaning behind it, the ignorant cretin.

You bit your tongue until you just couldn't anymore.

"God," you exhaled.

Yoko heard your sigh but said nothing about it, bowing her head. She wished John’d do the same, but deep down she knew he’d have something to say.

And of course, he did.

"What's up?" he asked lifting an eyebrow, eyes jumping from you to Yoko and back.

"One gets tired of listening to bullshit" you warranted in a singsong voice, not looking up from the paper and without interrupting your writing.

It took a few seconds for you to get a response.

"Nothing she said was bullshit," John defended, hinting that her opinion was as valid as anyones.

You understood his words differently.

"Rich’s mad excited about it and it’s a great song,” you hurried to argue, this time meeting his stare, “the number of hours and dedication he's putting into it is inhuman. You should know that”

A little –huge— bit of your protective side towards Ringo was showing, but you didn’t care. Octopus’s Garden was beautiful and you’d die defending so if necessary.

"I didn't mean—"

“Are you sure?” you interrupted, turning your body in his direction, leaning in before spitting the poison out, “because lately she seems to speak for you. Whatever Yoko says, there you are giving your approval”

John stood still for at least a minute, momentarily speechless.

Yoko approached him to tell him to forget it and leave before things got uglier.

When you called the conversation off after he hadn’t spoken a word, trying to handle what you just so hostilely reprimanded, you went back to your thing, conscious that you were too unstable and broken to even pick the pencil up again.

Sure you didn’t want him to know you weren’t as strong as you wanted to appear to be, but you had to close your eyes for a moment and exhale after he moved to stand next to you.

He didn’t know the power he had on you. It’d take a snap of his fingers to ruin you for eternity.

“You’ve to fix your shit and get over it,” John grunted, fed up with the constant attacks that Yoko directly and indirectly received. It all got too much to handle.

You laughed in his face.

“Fix my shit? How, John, when the shit’s in the same room?”

John paused again, shocked.

His eyes languidly turned cold and hard.

Could you maybe have gone a step too far? There was no denying. Were you regretful? Not at all. Did your heart, constricted in your breast painfully hindering your catch of air, speed up its pace at the look John was giving you, scared about what he was going to say next? Absolutely.

"What the fuck’s wrong with you? I've had enough of the continuous offences to my wife! Now this?!” he snapped, yelling.

You avoided by all means raising your voice since it’s pretty much known that doing so does not make you any more right. The tone was something you could take control over, unfortunately, it was way more difficult to hide how it trembled.

“If I started to say what I was fed up with we’d never finish the album. And we have to, right, John? The sooner the better,” you challenged in a cold-blooded boost of courage, knowing you were entering a difficult and muddy territory.

The bomb timer George talked about earlier was at its limit.

That John asked Yoko afterwards to leave you two alone was just the appetizer of what was coming.

“(Y/N), you have attitude problems. The way you treat Yoko is horrible and unfair. She just wants to help” he tried to let you know where he was coming from, going back to a more suitable tone to appeal you.

“When we ask her for help, her presence will be welcomed”

“Enough now. Enough, (Y/N)” he shook his head and glanced at you fiercely. You swallowed. "Shit, what the hell’s going on with you and your twisted mind? You’re unbearable"

“Am I unbearable?” you gasped, blood heating your face, and immediately stood up. “You’re insufferable!! Twenty-four hours together like… like… like two fucking creeps!” you screamed, quickly forgetting about the ‘not raising your voice’ thing, gesturing an awful lot to express your irritation.

His expression of disbelief morphed onto one of monumental anger.

"And don't come at me with that ‘attitude problems’ crap. I’m not the only one who wants her out” you lectured in a bitter fit of temper, voice unwillingly shaky.

“If you have a problem with Yoko being around, the door is right there” he answered, pronounced tightness clear in his words.

Your heart sank to the very bottom of the Earth’s core, and the floor beneath your feet started trembling, just like you hallucinated once after dropping acid with Paul: the whole body in an uninterrupted burning perception that you could just blow up and die.

John was unpredictable, but you never expected him to show you the way out. He flushed your feelings down the toilet just like that.

“Damn right the door’s right there. I’m getting the fuck out” you stressed, turning around to leave so he wouldn’t see the sea of tears that started to overflow down your face.

From the very beginning of your friendship, you knew you had a massive soft spot reserved for him in your heart, but as years passed you were assured you were deeply and profoundly in love with every part of him. You adored and cared about John more than you did to yourself, which sounds and is scary, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was the way that it was.

At this point you didn’t even care anymore that he didn’t return the same feelings, you just wanted him in your life one way or the other. His happiness was everything that mattered to you. It’d always remain that way no matter what happened.

John rubbed his eyes and sighed loudly.

“Don’t leave,” he said hopelessly, looking defeated, arms hanging on his sides, “I don’t want you to be mad at me”

“I’M NOT MAD AT YOU, IDIOT!” you exploded, whirling around to face him. “And I hate that! I hate it!”

Tears and tears kept streaming down your face. You knew you were being embarrassingly cringey and you’d punch yourself later for that.

There was no coming back now: the timer detonated and the pieces of your broken heart were all over the place, imaginarily staining the carpet as small volcanoes attached to them kept erupting and painting all red.

An anguish heaving pain in the pit of your stomach and throat was bit by bit killing you.

Nine years. Nine years in love with this man and he didn’t have the slimmest clue about how you felt.

He was about to find out.

John was surprised to meet your bloodshot eyes and quivering lips. He panicked when he saw that tears were also coming out of your nose down to your lips.

“I hate that you could hurt me over and over and that I’d always find ways to forgive you” you cried, and you wished you had a tissue to blow out your nose in it.

John was at a loss of words.

“Because I love you” you wailed, and rolled your eyes afterwards at that because it was so inconvenient and wrong to say it out loud.

In his consciousness, a voice snapped at him to take action and comfort you, but his feet seemed to be rooted to where he was standing. You were so vulnerable and fragile, full body shaking and shoulders tight, air constantly bursting in and out of your mouth, impossible to control your sobs. All because of him.

“I don’t… I don’t…” John struggled, heartbeat racing a million miles per second.

“I know you don’t!” you sputtered, an excruciating feeling that he’d never want to be with you choking you extremely. "Up until now I thought I could live with it, but you keep bringing her here! Why do you have to bring her?” you sobbed, covering your face.

John couldn’t quite tell whether it was your statement and confession what made his heart heavier with misery or the nicotine in the amount of tobacco smoke still hovering in the room, demanding it to work harder.

By the time he felt sorrowness suffocating him, he couldn’t deny it was the first option.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry…”

As he watched you gulp for air, he couldn’t feel more incompetent and clueless.

You compressed your lips so he wouldn’t get to hear you sobbing; turning your back at him to hide your blotchy face, you heard footsteps approaching you.

John went to put a hand on your shoulder and hold you, but you winced and complained, stepping away from him, as if the contact burned your skin.

Staring at him in the eye, you shook your head.

“Do not touch me”

“(Y/N), we have to sit down and talk this through. I cannot—“

“I don’t want to keep talking about it. I said my part and I know what’s crossing your mind. ‘Poor (Y/N), I feel so bad for her, I hope she gets over it soon’. Nine years, John”

He swallowed.

“I’m sure there’s a way—“

“There isn’t! I love you and you don’t love me! What is there to discuss?”

Glancing across at him, you could perfectly see how he cared and how frightened and terrified he was about the situation. You were one of the most important people in his life, and to think that he thought he knew you, but missed what you were genuinely feeling towards him for almost a decade… He felt horrible.

Yoko was the love of his life, but he also loved you with all his heart.

He was sorry that it wasn’t enough.

“John”

George stepped into the room and walked further in to pull you towards him. He'd been watching for just a few seconds, because as soon as he saw what was going on, he intended to leave, at the end of the day it was none of his business, but he knew you needed him and therefore took the decision to end the scene.

Rubbing your back, he whispered in your hair if you wanted to leave. You just nodded.

“Wait, George. I need to talk to her”

“You heard her. She doesn’t want to”

John got mad at him.

“All I’m asking is a few minutes. Don’t expect me to drop it when she’s like that”

Maybe by ‘that’ he meant that you looked like a train just ran you over. Casually, that’s how you felt. If not worse.

You rested your head on George’s shoulder and murmured something about needing to go now because you couldn’t be in John’s presence no more.

“(Y/N), please” you heard John beg.

George and you walked to the door and he told you to wait outside, touching your cheek with a small smile on his lips, encouraging you to take it as an opportunity to calm down.

You obliged, but heard everything they were saying anyway.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” John cursed. “Why won’t you let me speak to her? This is serious, please”

John tried to get to the door but George barred the way.

“Are you gonna tell her you love her?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

John stared at his bandmate blankly, the expression of confusion on his face speaking for itself.

“Are you gonna tell her you’re leaving Yoko to spend your life with her?” George continued, making a point that he knew John would understand.

You bit your lip at that and wept silently.

John’s eyes were slowly piling up hot tears.

“That’s what I thought” George spoke in an undertone.

After that, George left him and found you sitting on the ground in the corridor. He took a seat next to you.

Spontaneous sobs and shiverings that you couldn’t hold back happened every now and then. You were grateful that George wouldn’t address them.

“I’m pathetic”

“No you’re not”

“Yes I am” you shook your head and sniffed, feeling lamentable. “I didn’t know I’d end up confessing one day. I assumed I’d carry it to the crave”

Two staff members from the cleaning crew walked by, and you stopped talking. When they were gone, George turned to look at you.

“I believe things happen for a reason and that fate is written. You and John not being a thing may be for the best. It’s gonna be hard, but you have to move on”

“Move on…”

He nodded.

You moved to face him and stared strongly into his eyes. That was it.

“Move on” you repeated out loud as a mantra, staring off into nowhere.

George furrowed an eyebrow.

“Yes…?”

You inhaled and exhaled at the same time that you closed and opened your eyes. Moving on would be the first step to a better stage within yourself.

“I’m leaving”

Puzzlement clouded George’s features.

“Leave… where?”

“The band, Geo. I’m quitting the band”

[ofshiclds]

❛ ˗˗˗˗ ❥  ( lorenzo zurzolo, he/him, cis male. ) : * ❝ oh my god ! it's rafael thomas ! i think they are a twenty-two year old medical student from milan, italy but they’ve been living in apartment 403, bedroom 1 for 7 months. they are known as the sentinel because they are so + dutiful, and + compassionate but they can also be very - socially oblivious, and - rigid. they often remind me of scars all up his left hand, italian loafers, a piping hot mug of green tea. ❞ ally. 22. est.

hello and welcome to the second Disaster. his bg is a bit shorter but i’m still adding a tldr. if you wanna plot, like this and i’ll hyu! 

history. (tw organized crime, murder, injury) (tl;dr at bottom)

grew up in the mafia, the quarantas of milan. his mother did genuinely love him, but to toughen him up his grandfather didn’t allow her to hold him once he turned three. still, when he had tough days, she’d ask his maid to keep his bedroom window open when he went to bed, and she’d sing lullabies for him from her balcony.

he was made to be a vicious man, but when he met his art teacher, a gift from his mother, he loved him instantly. he was a father figure to rafael. but his grandfather, the kingpin of the quaranta family, noticed he was getting attached, and had him killed in front of a ten-year-old rafael. when rafal cried, his grandfather ordered every finger in his left hand be broken, so he’d be unable to draw for a long, long time.

once he and his mother were alone, she pulled him into a hug, and whispered into his ear the name of his father, doctor jonathan thomas, in new york city. rafael ran away the next day, his mother taking out the guards from the balcony. it wasn’t until years later rafael learned she’d been killed.

rafael smuggled himself out of italy and into a boat, draining his rations and almost starving at sea before he came to new york. he lived on the streets for a couple weeks before he managed to track down doctor jonathan thomas, who is the preeminent cardiothoracic surgeon in new york city.

once he got the paternity test done, jonathan promptly shipped rafael off to boarding school in switzerland, even though rafael was terrified to go near italy. thankfully, it’s an extremely guarded school, and he was safe there until he finally graduated. he changed his name to thomas in that time; quaranta is extremely known.

does everything to make his father proud. has excellent grades, was in like all the fucking extra curriculars, has stayed so fucking clean it’s unbelievable, went to harvard where he majored in chemical and physical biology, and got early acceptance to grossman school of medicine at nyu. wants to become a doctor just like his father. originally he wanted to be a surgeon, but he’s not so sure anymore.

tl;dr born into mafia in milan, escaped after having his art tutor killed and all his fingers broken, found his father in nyc, wants to impress him so bad to this day and become a doctor just like him.

personality.

the physical manifestation of this tik tok

has a pretty bad temper, snaps at people very easily, but he almost never comes from a place of malice when he snaps at people. unless he thinks you are a Bad Person, in which case he will physically fight you.

(dw though; the person he’s maddest at on a regular basis is himself)

MASSIVE perfectionist like its a PROBLEM he hates it when things aren’t perfect

health nut, goes to the gym every day and is a vegan who makes himself the healthiest fucking food.

and ofc he’s a goddamned medical student, so he’s almost always studying.

at least part of the reason why he wants to be a doctor is because he wants to right the wrongs of his past and his family, saving lives instead of ending them.

will smoke a guilty cigarette every now and again, and if you catch him he will be EXTREMELY embarrassed

has major grandpa energy. loves wool sweaters and slacks, crosswords, and yelling at kids to get off his damn lawn

very catholic, goes to mass every sunday, so fucking straight edge it’s not even funny.

also he’s bi but doesn’t realize it it’ll be fun.

also Talks Like This half because english is like his third or fourth language and half because he’s just Like That. also has a slight italian accent but it’s mostly gone by now.

he’s actually a very loving and caring person he just doesn’t know how to express that in a way that isn’t weirdly aggressive or just plain weird. like if he hears you having a bad day he’ll make you a batch of cookies, leave it at your doorstep, knock and run away.

wanted connections. 

i honestly dk its..... Wildin i just need a bunch of ducklings for him to unintentionally mother 

maybe someone who makes him have a Gay Crisis

[areiton]

text me maybe

Summary:

He’s drunk and there’s a really hazy decade in the nineties that Rhodey looks pained when he even thinks about that says doing shit when he’s drunk is a bad idea.

There’s also a new building on MIT campus and a yearly donation that supports that theory.

But MIT and Rhodey are far away and that clunky black flip phone is not, and he snarls as he snatches it up and punches in the message.

It takes almost five minutes because the tech is obsolete and he is drunk but he does and he smiles at it, viciously pleased.

~*~

Chapter 4 of 5. Lots of angst and miscommunication and pining. Enjoy.

Read on AO3

~*~ 

"What the hell, Tony!" Steve shouts, and it settles in, deep, below the seething rage and hurt, and Bucky's face, his closed eyes and bowed head. 

"Leave it," Bucky says, quietly, just enough steel in his voice that Steve goes quiet and there's a very distant part of Tony that wants to learn that trick, wants to shut Steve Rogers up that fucking fast, but it's being shouted down by the part of him that is demanding answers. 

"How long," he says, his breath ragged and he hates how raw his voice sounds the way it makes Rhodey shift next to him, anxious and protective. "How long were you lying to me?" 

Bucky flinches, and shakes his head, eyes pleading when they flick up to Tony for the barest heartbeat. 

"How long?" 

"It was always me," he says. "From that first text. He lost it--the phone, it got misplaced and I found it and--"

"And you thought you'd lie to me?" Tony spits. "Take my trust when you've taken so much else from me? Jesus, Barnes, do you want my fucking heart on a platter?" 

Bucky flinches and his eyes are big and pleading and hurt--

 I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. 

 He shakes his head and falls back a step. Is reminded, suddenly, of the audience they have--Steve in Sam's arms both of them confused, Natasha and her resigned sympathy, Rhodey's trembling fury, and he shakes himself. Shakes off the emotions clogging in his throat. "Medical is waiting," he says, sharply, and Rhodey steps forward, takes over. 

He can feel Barnes watching him, until he steps off the landing pad and into the private quiet of his elevator. 

 ~*~ 

 Bucky wants to follow him. 

He wants to chase Tony and explain, pour out the apology he had spent the entire last mission perfecting. 

Colonel James Rhodes is between him and the door, and even without his suit, the look in that man's eyes stops Bucky before he takes the first step. 

"Did you do it on purpose? Make him trust you so you could get back home? Because he was already killin' himself trying to fix the Accords and get your asses pardoned, this--" he gestures, "wasn't necessary." 

"It wasn't like that," Bucky says, softly and Rhodes scoffs, his expression something between disbelief and disgust. 

"You're welcome in the Tower--Tony made that decision. But you stay out of his lab, you stay the hell away from him--you see him coming, you walk away. If and when he wants to talk--he'll come to you." 

Bucky blinks at him. Behind them, he can hear the medical staff taking Steve from Sam, and he can feel the warmth of Tasha at his side, and he wants to argue--but he doesn't. He nods. 

Rhodes steps into his space, a head shorter, fifty pounds lighter, and bristling with fury that makes unease creep along Bucky's spine. "If you do anything else to hurt him, Barnes--I swear to god, I'll kill you." 

He doesn't wait for an answer that isn't coming--just turns and stalks after his best friend. 

Bucky slumps a little and Tasha hooks an arm through his. "That went even worse than I anticipated." 

 ~*~ 

 He hides in his lab for three days before Rhodey and Peter override protocols and drag him to his bed. "They're not allowed up here, Mr. Stark," Peter promises in that endearingly earnest way of his. "You can sleep and no one will bother you." 

Rhodey shoos Pete out before he leaves, and he pauses, watching Tony for a long contemplative moment. "Did you ever think--" 

He makes a quiet, hurt sound, and Rhodey sighs. Comes back to sit on the bed next to him and Tony curls into his friend, his brother, head pillowed on his leg, and long familiar fingers combing through his hair. "I could kill him for you, Tones," he offers, lightly and Tony laughs, wet and hysterical and presses the tears neither of them are acknowledging into his leg. 

He thinks about it though--the half-formed question. Did he know? 

Not that it was Barnes--never that. But there were moments. Little slips and earnest apologies--moments he wondered if it wasn't Steve. 

He reads the messages again, and his heart hurts. 

 I wish--

 What

 Wish things were different. wish we weren’t on different sides.

  I know if you were mine, I wouldn’t trust another fella with you.

  I want to keep you all to myself. 

 There is never a point, he realizes, when Bucky said he was Steve. Never a moment when he answered to that name--usually if Tony directly addressed him or called him by nickname, Bucky would stop talking or change the subject. 

But he never said he wasn't Steve, either--and that lie of omission stabs at him every time he takes a breath. 

 ~*~ 

 The Rogues settle in like they'd never left--Steve is released from medical after three days, and a week later, they're still there. 

Bucky knows that Steve and Rhodes are talking, that the Accords are being discussed, and the pardons that Tony had worked out for the team. 

He aches, when he thinks about it, just like he does when he thinks about the fact that they are here--in his home, surrounded by his family, being provided for by his wealth. 

"It was smart," Wanda says, once, when she's realized Tony isn't waiting to swoop in and arrest them, or toss them out. There's something smug in the little witch that makes him itchy and angry, but he chokes that down and stares at her, questioning. "Getting him to trust you. To feel sorry--it was smart. It got us home." 

He stares at her for a long time, and then laughs. 

It's not a pleasant noise. "Tony was trying to get us home before I ever spoke to him. And it was never with this intention. I wanted to fix something I broke. Everyone worried about me and Steve after Sibreria--but no one ever thought to worry about Tony." 

Her eyes are cool and amused, like Bucky doesn't understand what he's saying. Patiently, "He should never have been there. He deserved what happened." 

Bucky opens his mouth--and then stops. 

Because it doesn't matter. Wanda won't ever see Tony as more than the name that killed her parents and destroyed her world. Some people only look at the world through hate filled glasses. 

He shakes his head and stands. "No one deserved that," he says, and leaves her there. 

 ~*~ 

 They've been in the Tower for a month, when he meets Peter. 

It's the middle of the night and he's stirring a pot of hot chocolate when he hears light feet and a familiar sound that jerks his head up--because it's been over a year since Berlin but he doesn't think he'll ever forget the sound that damn kid made when he shot him and Sam with that webbing. 

There's a boy landing lightly on the counter, in Hello Kitty pajama pants and a ratty Ironman t shirt and bare feet. 

He looks soft, sleepy, harmless. 

His eyes though--his eyes are cold and hard and trained on Bucky with a ruthless sort of intensity. He pauses, and pulls the pot from the heat carefully before saying, "You're Peter." 

The boy doesn't answer. He didn't really expect him to. "And Spider-man. Right?" 

He tips a look at the kid, at the tight set of his lips and the straight set of his shoulders and he sighs. Pours two cups of hot chocolate and adds a splash of Bailey's to one. He dumps a handful of marshmallows in both and then scoots them across the counter to Peter. 

That makes the kid pause, makes him stare down at the drinks in baffled surprise. Then his gaze flicks up, to Bucky. "You're the one leaving him food and coffee at night," Peter says. 

Bucky feels heat crawling in his cheeks but he doesn't deny it. Just nods and sips his own chocolate, cooling now. 

Peter stares at him for a moment, and then his shoulders slump and he reaches for the drinks. "Don't hurt him." 

"Do you think I would?" Bucky asks. 

Peter shakes his head. "Not intentionally. If I did, or Rhodey did--you wouldn't be here. None of you would." He starts to turn away, looks back. "But you can. You need to be aware--and be careful." 

He waits for Bucky's slow nod--and then he goes, with a tiny, reluctant smile, and Bucky's breath eases from him. 

It feels like the first breath he's taken in a month. 

 ~*~ 

 Steve is in his workshop. It’s the first time in over a year that the man has been this close, and even knowing that what he’d been building wasn’t even with Steve, there’s something about seeing him here, in his space, that sets Tony off kilter, his hands shaking just a little. He licks his lips and shoves into the big open space, “What can I do for you, Rogers? Is the thread count not to your liking?” 

Rogers doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s staring at Tony, his expression set and cold, and Tony smiles. “So it’s about Barnes.” 

“You punched him.” 

“Mmm, I did. After he lied to me for months. I feel like one probably cancels out the other and look, clean slate.” 

“I thought you’d--” 

“What? Get over it?” Tony asks, and his temper sparks, suddenly, flipping from anxious almost apologetic, to furious in the space of a heartbeat. “The bastard killed my mother.”

“You know it wasn’t him.” 

“His hands. His gun. I tore HYDRA apart with you--but he’s still here and I have to live with that.” 

“Yeah. Which mean you don’t punch him every time you lose your damn temper.” 

Tony blinks at Rogers. Studies him, and sighs. “You don’t even know, do you?” 

“Know what?” Steve demands, belligerent. 

“Go talk to your bestie, Cap. Find out what the hell I’m pissed about from him. You sure as hell won’t believe me.” 

 ~*~ 

 “I miss him,” Tony confesses and Rhodey looks at him. “I miss--I see things, or my phone will go off--and I think it’s him. And it isn’t. It never is. And I miss him.” 

“You’re allowed to miss him.” 

Tony snorts. Shakes his head. “It was all a lie.” 

Rhodey shakes his head. “It wasn’t. Some of it was--but what he said. What he meant to you. That wasn’t.” 

Tony is quiet and Rhodey reaches across the table to squeeze his wrist. “You’re allowed to miss him. And you’re allowed to forgive him--if that’s what you want.” 

“Is it?” Tony asks, his voice very small. 

Rhodey’s smile is sad, “I don’t know, Tony--only you can figure that out.” 

 ~*~ 

 “What’s going on between you and Stark?” Steve asks, and Bucky pauses. Lowers the gun he’s been cleaning and leans back to stare at his best friend. 

The thing about friends like Steve Rogers is--you don’t always like them. They’re family, part of the fabric of who you are, dug so deep you can’t separate them out--but you don’t always like them. 

“Nothin’. Why?” 

“Because the man punched you and can’t give me a good reason for it,” Steve snapped. 

“Told you to leave it alone,” Bucky grumbles, pick up the gun. 

“And not a damn thing else,” Steve fires back. 

“I talked to him,” he says, eyes trained on the gun. “Texted him. He trusted me, and I lied about somethin’.” 

The thing about Steve is--he’s smart. 

“Buck, you didn’t.” 

His shoulders hunch. “I didn’t mean to. I just--I didn’t know how to tell him.” 

Steve groans, scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re an idiot.” 

Bucky grunts. 

He sits down next to Bucky, a heavy hot weight on his right. “You deserved that punch, you know.” 

Bucky grunts. 

“You really care about him, don’t you.” 

Bucky’s fingers, quick and nimble on the gun, fumble, and Steve sighs. “Oh, Buck.” 

 ~*~ 

 He's drunk and there's a really hazy decade in the nineties that Rhodey looks pained when he even thinks about that says doing shit when he's drunk is a bad idea. 

But he’s not so drunk that his fingers are unsteady or slow, as he types. 

 I miss you. And i’m so angry at you I want to hit you.

But I miss you. A lot. 

 ~*~ 

 Deep in the Tower, Bucky’s ancient little phone chimes. And he smiles.

[way-of-flowers]

Rest Prompts - Open!

moonlight. trying to stay up until a loved one comes back home.

missing piece. falling asleep somewhere that isn’t their bed. 

[ :TEXT: 6:58 PM: ] Teika, where are you? I’m at your house, but you’re not here?

[ :TEXT: 7:25 PM: ] Teika... I’m still here. Are we not going out tonight? Did I confuse the dates? I was certain you said tonight...

[ :TEXT: 7:28 PM: ] I’m sorry to keep texting, but now it’s been half an hour... Are you okay?

[ :TEXT: 8:34 PM: ] Teika, please. It’s been an hour and a half. At least let me know you’re safe and sound. Please.

“ C’mon Teika... Answer me. Please, please...” 

‘Keys under the doormat.’ He says. ‘Won’t be long.’ He says. ‘We’ll have fun tonight.’ He swears. Normally Mio’s patience was arguably that of a Saint. But even she, with all her shows of “perfection”, was very flawed human being who could be wearied down. A lady who secretly has a horrible temper...with a fuse being cut shorter and shorter by all the ridiculousness of her life and so-called “friends.” 

[:TEXT: 9:18 PM: ] ...Teika?

Nothing. 

Two Hours waiting like a fool with STILL no responses. It was all enough to bring a strangled scream of frustration from the lady’s throat. Chucking her phone to the carpeted floor.

“ Aughhh!!! FINE! Go ahead! Ignore me too! ” She cried aloud to no caring ears, falling back in a dramatic huff onto his couch, arm falling over her eyes, “ ...I don’t care anymore...”

Except Mio did care. She cared too damn much...only for everyone to shut her away...

‘You’re being unreasonable, Mio! What if Teika is hurt or worse?’ Her mind quipped.

‘...Why does she always have to be fair? No one else ever was.’ A dark voice replies bitterly.

“......”

Maybe... Maybe, she’ll wait a little while longer. At the very least, to know he was safe...and likely, also, yell at him for forgetting her; but mostly to be certain he was alive. ‘He better be...’ Uncharacteristic thoughts grumbled, becoming fainter, unintentionally comforted by Teika’s soft, pillowy, all-too-inviting cushions... That suddenly, with greenlit eyes jolting open, Mio finds herself sitting upright and shaking her head awake. 

What is she doing?! She can’t fall asleep in Teika’s house! But, despite what Mio feels is right, the temptation for what she wants is incredibly hard to resist. Her weary body and mind pleading for rest. She’s been waiting so long and she was just so...exhausted by everything.

‘Maybe I...’ Mio thinks sleepily, letting herself settle back into the couch. God, it was so comforting, ‘Maybe I could just...rest my eyes...for a few seconds? Just a few...seconds...’

Somewhere, subconsciously, Mio knows she’s only lying to herself.  Giving herself mere, feeble excuses to give in. For as soon as the Florist surrenders to her needs, sleep completely and utterly overtakes her. When Anda Teika finally does come home, he’ll be finding the lady long since passed out on his own couch.

{ @underteika }

[kashimos-hajime]

Social Justice

Request: could you do a peter kavinsky x reader imagine where everyone in the school knows your Peter's, so they don't even dare try hitting on you, except this one guy does it so often that Peter just gets so angry. But instead of yelling at him in a angry manner, Peter confronts him with such sarcasm and calmness that it ends up scaring the guy away? yeah idk? something like that i guess...

A/N: Hope I do you justice, anon!

As always, thank you @teawithbucky​ for giving this a read over before I let you all read it.

Masterlist and Taglist are in my bio!

Summary: When a new student threatens the power couple of high school, you and Peter Kavinsky firmly put him back in his place with a proper verbal smack down.

Characters: Peter Kavinsky

Wordcount: 1.7k

Rating: T (swearing, one slap, sexual harrassment, strong feminist views because I can’t help myself and I love writing a strong Reader)

You grab your what-was-once-hot coffee and sigh, raking your gaze over the stack of textbooks in your locker. It’s lunch (finally) and you’re exhausted.

“Hey, babe,” Peter greets, sneaking up behind you with his hands on your hips. Not paying him any mind, you cast a doubtful look at the chemistry textbook, wondering if you should study during lunch.

“How was the chem test?” you ask and he plucks the takeaway coffee cup from your hand. He quickly presses a kiss to your neck before taking a sip of your coffee. Making a face, he swallows painfully and you try to stifle a smile.

“It was pretty easy. You should be good to go for tomorrow.” He heads down the hall to throw away the cup as you nod to yourself. That means less work for you. Closing your locker, you smile at your boyfriend. He always has a habit of making you smile even when all you want to do is frown so much that the lines become permanently engraved on your face. Adjusting your backpack, you sneak an arm around his waist as he tosses one around your shoulders, bringing you close.

“Wanna get some subs?” Shrugging, you push open the school doors just as someone calls your name.

“(Y/N)! Hey!” Turning around, you feel Peter’s arm fall away as you spot Thomas Callaway who’d been assigned as your chem partner since the new seating arrangement had taken place. Also a new student, you’d been assigned as his tour guide for his first month. “Hey.”  

“Thomas, hey.” Smiling, you brush a piece of hair behind your ear as Peter grabs your free hand, kissing your temple. “Do you need something?”

“Uh, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the movies? See the new Shades of Grey movie?” He has a smirk on his face but you, knowing that every Thursday means a chill night with Peter, shake your head.

“Sorry, I have plans.” With one last (not so) apologetic look, you and your boyfriend turn around and he reaches for the door when Thomas calls out again.

“How about lunch? We can ditch the afternoon.”

“I’m gonna get subs with Peter,” you say and Thomas’ eyes go to the taller Peter Kavinsky who has an indifferent expression directed down at him.

“Right. Is that even allowed?”

“As long as you don’t tell,” you say flatly. “Can you find your way to the cafeteria?”

He stutters for a moment, at a loss for words before uttering, “Yeah. Uh, maybe next time?” You shrug and then the two of you turn. Tossing a glance over your shoulder, you offer a forced smile.

“Yeah, next time.”

As the two of you leave the high school, Peter lets go of your hand and resumes the arm around your shoulder.

“Who was that?” he asks, acting disinterested. Knowing he’s only trying to act aloof, you nudge him in the ribs.

“My new chem partner. Play nice for now.”

“If he doesn’t stop flirting with you, I might have to mark my territory,” he mumbles with a hot glare and you laugh, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I don’t like him either.” He tilts your chin up, pressing a full kiss against your mouth. Pushing back, you wrinkle your nose when he pulls away first. “Come on. We needa get back in time.” Tugging your hand, the two of you start in a run towards the Subway down the block.

.

As the month goes on, you find yourself more short-tempered and annoyed than a usual first month back. Normally September’s weather makes you all calm and happy, but with Thomas Callaway as your parasite, you find yourself being unable to be anything but.

It started out fine. Little proposals to hang out, to study, and then it became outrageous.

“Hey, good lookin’.”

“If your name came up in ‘Smash or Pass’, I’d full on smash.”

“Your ass in jeans shouldn’t be legal.”

Let’s just say Peter’s temper matched yours whenever the two of you saw him. To say the most popular couple in school is on a warpath is an understatement. Although the both of you are well respected in your own right, everyone knows to stay the fuck away from either of you. Every girl and guy has made a solidarity pact and everyone likes (or respects or fears) both you and Peter too much to so much as glance in the direction of your boobs and his dick.

Callaway just didn’t get the damn fucking memo.

As the date of homecoming approaches, you know that Peter will plan something elaborate to ask you out. Every year you feel the urge to tell him it doesn’t matter. He could ask you while you were in the middle of the exam and you’d still say yes. Not enthusiastically, but you would say yes. Unfortunately for you, that means that Thomas Callaway’s ‘suave’ flirtations doubled in amount.

As you stand at your locker during break, stuffing your notebook into your locker, you feel another presence hover over you.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Mentally preparing yourself, you pay Callaway no mind even when his breath puffs over your ear. “You got a date to homecoming? Because if you don’t...” He clicks his tongue and jabs a thumb towards himself. Rolling your eyes, you pause to calm yourself down before beginning to jam your textbook into your locker a lot harder than God intended.

“As I’ve told you a thousand times, I am going with Peter. I have been dating him since I have met you; that is not going to change, and I don’t want to go with anyone else.”

“Aw, come on. What does he have that I don’t?” Callaway asks, coming closer until his lips brush against your ear. Closing your eyes, you give him a count to three. You know people are staring and whispering, probably at how stupid this new guy is and when you give him two extra seconds and count to five, you’re wondering why you’re so merciful today. “Come on, baby, why don’t you bend over-”

“Woah!” Whirling around, you slap him hard across the face. He stumbles back as you storm up to him, digging a finger hard into his chest. “No. You don’t get to say that. You do not get to come to my locker, into my personal space, and insinuate things I don’t like, even after weeks of me saying no. You may have been able to push around other girls, make them feel uncomfortable, but let me tell you,” you chuckle, “you chose the wrong girl. I am not afraid to stand up to you. I am not afraid to make a scene. You have been sexually harassing me, even when I have calmly, firmly told you no. I have been forced to work with you because the school has told me to do so. You seem to mistake it for interest. I assure you. It is not. I loathe you. I despise you. And don’t think I won’t report you to the goddamn principal. You’re nasty.”

“You wonder what Peter Kavinsky has over you? A sense of what consent is near the top of the list,” you snap. “Leave me alone, Callaway.”

“Bitch,” he spits and you laugh facetiously. So he’s one of those people. “You’re probably one of those sluts who has him wrapped around your finger while you go off blowing all his friends.”

“Oh, don’t be one of those sad, sad guys. Calling me names because I hurt your little fragile ego? Slut-shaming? Really? I hope you grow up before you even think about asking another woman out again.” Slamming your locker closed, you turn to walk away when you see your boyfriend standing there with a slight smile on his face. A crowd has half-formed, students littering the halls in a semi-circle around you but you don’t care.

“You know, that wasn’t smart of you to piss her off like that,” Peter starts dangerously, walking forward and placing himself between you and Callaway. “Mostly because one, she can fucking kick your ass and two, she has a boyfriend who can probably bench press you right now if he wanted to.” Peeking around Peter, you see Callaway stare at you. “You know what else was a genius move of yours? Hitting on a girl who has a boyfriend.” Peter smiles blandly at the shorter guy as he takes a few paces up to him. “I’ve let it go, seeing as how you’re the new guy, but let me make one thing very, very clear. You come near her again outside the classroom again, and I don’t think you’ll like what happens to you, Thomas. You are not worth her time with how you act and what you say. Grow up, dude, seriously.”

Peter genuinely sounds disgusted and disappointed; so deeply so that it makes you chuckle and he glances back at you. He winks and you smirk as he turns back to Callaway.

“Go, man. Why are you still here? You’re just embarrassing yourself.” There’s a long moment where Callaway stares at you then drags his gaze back to Peter.

“Whatever. You’re not worth my time anyways. Skank.” You roll your eyes. What a classic tactic to bid for the last word. Name-calling. Cute.

“Uhm, bitch, you’re walking a fine line.” Peter crosses his arms over his chest and for a moment, there’s a long stare-off. “You’re dismissed, Callaway.” Another tense silence, then Callaway turns pushes through the crowd. “Let him through.”

“Alright guys, showdown is over. Let’s just get back to class,” you announce as Peter finally turns around with that wide smile you know is for you.

“I am so blessed that you’re my girl,” he whispers and you laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. “Honestly, I only wanted to step in for my two-cents but watching you verbally kick his ass was pretty great.”

“Well, now you’re making me blush,” you faux-swoon and he laughs, twirling you around. “Come on. Let’s get to class.” Pulling away, you extend your hand towards him and he takes it, swinging your arms as you walk to history.

“I love you.” Beaming from ear to ear, you feel your neck warm up as you stare at the tiles beneath your shoes.

“I love you, too.”

TAGS: @teawithbucky @shadowsndaisies @meemeehoelland

[merrymemori]

From @hellmori.

John ignores ten years of feelings for his best friend until it slowly overflows him.

For Elyse (@raven-reyes-of-sunshine). This wasn’t supposed to be this long, but the slow burn got the best of me. Merry Christmas <3

John and Emori had studied together since primary school. He was the poor kid who had lost his father, and she, the girl with the weird hand and the ugly scar on her face. Both targets of rejection, pity, and despise, they found their way to each other, their friendship built as a shield to fend off the outer world. Together they could face anything and anyone.

With the death of his father, John spent a lot of time at Emori’s house, mostly because he was afraid his mom would try to choke him in his sleep again. Otan, Emori’s brother, was the one who took care of him, who held him after nightmares, who made sure he was going to school and had what to eat every day. They felt more like his family than his own mother, who drank 24/7 to forget she had a son.

By the age of fourteen, John and Emori were inseparable. They walked to school together, they had lunch, they stood up for each other whenever someone mocked them. Emori actually punched one of their colleagues for insulting John, which got her a bloody knuckle and a three-day suspension – if you asked her, she’d say that it was worth the stinging pain in her right hand and every lecture she got, from her brother to the school principal.

Emori helped John with his homework whenever he was struggling with a math problem, and he helped her every time she had no idea where to start writing an English paper. They would sleep in the same room, she on the bed, he on an air mattress by her bedside, both falling in a world of dreams, where their path would cross in each one of them.

One year later, Emori had her first kiss. The feeling of being beat to it by his best friend wasn’t as unsettling as the fact that someone as cool and smart as Emori would want to kiss a guy as stupid as the boy she hooked up with. John thought she sure deserved better.

Whenever she talked about the kiss or the boy, something bubbled inside his chest, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it made him feel weird. There were times when he’d want to turn his back and cold-shoulder her, especially when she justified her delay for being insecure about her hand, saying he was the first one to not reject her for it.

In John’s mind, a lot was wrong in her allegation. A, John didn’t give a damn about how old she would be when she kissed someone for the first time, and B, he had always said how badass her hand was, how she shouldn’t feel the need to hide it – how could she say that that guy was the first one? That was unacceptable.

Now, his lack of interest in having his first kiss always annoyed Emori to a point where she couldn’t stop asking him why he hasn’t done it yet. John tried to answer it politely the first couple of times, but his bad temper eventually made its way to the surface, retorting he didn’t want to kiss someone just because people said he should. That resulted in a one week fight, in which they would only talk to each other through Otan or one of their mutual friends, especially Raven or Monty, depending on where they were.

When John was old enough, the sleepovers and silly fights stayed in the past, and he had to face his fears. His mom still drank like that was the only possible thing in life, and her neglect wasn’t as surprising as it was when he was little. With the passing years also came the responsibilities; John started working part-time at a coffee shop downtown at the same time he studied for his SAT. He and Emori had discussed college plans, and he couldn’t wait to get out of that house, to move on far away from the ghosts of his past and the monsters of his present life – there was no way he would screw this up.

Emori would often doubt of her college potential, saying she wasn’t that smart, and why would any college want her? What does she have to offer to the academic world? John just thought that was nonsense, there was no need for her to be that nervous – even though their only hope of getting a better life was to move out and go to college, but she didn’t need to be reminded of that – and he took every chance he got to assure her she was brilliant.

The day Emori got her acceptance letter, John hadn’t received his yet. His heart was torn between being happy for her and being devastated for losing the only good thing in his life. And what the hell would he do without her? It was so easy for the broken and self-destructive part of his brain to believe that his fate was being stuck in a city he hates, with people that despise him, away from the one person he cares about. The damaged part of him drifted to all the ways Emori would forget him and move on without him. How she would graduate, get a job, a house, and eventually find someone to spend her life with. She would build a home and a family, in which there would be no place for him. With time, he would be nothing more than a faded memory in the corner of her brain, just a dusty fragment of her life racing into oblivion.

A week after John cried himself to sleep every night and Emori ran out of tears at the idea of moving away without her best friend, his letter arrived on the mail. The envelope was crumpled, the corners slightly damaged by what looked like water – and God knows what happened to it – but it was finally there.

John held the paper in his hands, his trembling fingers wrinkling it even more. “I can’t do it, you need to open it for me.”

As Emori took the envelope from his hands and read the words carefully, the way her face lit up with it didn’t leave any doubt. “You got in, John.”

He widened his blue eyes. “I got– I got in?”

Her lips molded into the most radiant smile while she lurched forward, the impact of her body on his making John lose balance and hit the wall behind him.

“Ow.”

Emori chuckled, caressing the spot on his head that collided with the wall. “Sorry.”

He laughed, and she hugged him so tight it got him paying attention to how the smell of her hair was so vivid inside his nostrils, to how her chest was crushed against his, to how close she was to his –

“I’m so proud of you,” Emori whispered in his ear.

She kissed his cheek, lingering on his skin more than she usually did, but he banished every theory that dared to pop into his mind – they were just friends, it’s not like anything past that was ever going to happen.

“Thanks.”

Abandoning all the pain and harm in his past life, John and Emori rented a house with their group of friends – Raven, Bellamy, Monty, Echo, and Harper. Each of them would go their own way during classes, from English literature to history, chemistry to sociology, anatomy to calculus. They all shared one class, though – astronomy – and the fact that they used that to name their group space squad made John feel like they were still in middle school at the same time it warmed his heart for being a part of something that good.

During their sophomore year, John lost his mother – not that the woman who beat the crap out of him and remembered him every day of how he got his father killed was his mom, but still. Emori insisted in accompanying him, saying he shouldn’t go through that alone, and together, they hopped on the next plane. Back at their hometown, Emori and Otan helped John with the funeral, even though there was no one to attend to. John watched his mother be laid to rest by his father’s side with Emori’s hand in his, her grip guaranteeing that she was there for him and that he would never be alone or hurt again for as long as her heart beat.

On their way back to Emori and Otan’s house, thunders traveled through the sky and bolts of white lightning flashed in the blackness above them, announcing the rain that would soon pour down. As John stood on the sidewalk, just a few meters away from the faded blue house with the brown lawn and the broken windows, cool raindrops fell on his face, wiping his soul clean. Emori held him close, her arms wrapped around his neck while the ache, guilt, and resentment that had been consuming his body for years left alongside with his tears, the rain washing it all away. Around them, the blinding light and the rolling thunders reminded him that even the strongest of storms would eventually be over.

As their graduation day grew closer, John could barely believe that he, the guy who thought he wasn’t worth or capable of having a future and building a life for himself, was actually graduating in something he loved. Emori still mocked him, saying he was already a softie before majoring in English Literature. John, of course, didn’t miss the opportunity, replying she already spaced out a lot, she didn’t need an Aerospace Engineering degree to attest that.

When their graduation took place, John and Emori had met before the ceremony. He was wearing a white dress shirt, black pants, and formal shoes, the light blue tie around his neck only making him uncomfortable. At the moment his eyes landed on Emori, his heart skipped a beat, and he had to remind himself to breathe. Walking towards him, there she was, smiling so brightly in a long black dress, her arms and hands unconcealed.  He was momentarily stunned at the sight of her fleshy lips tinted red, her short hair curled down her back, her formal dress bringing out the curves of her body.

He cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together as his eyes denied his command, getting an eyeful of her. “Wow, you look– you look beautiful.”  

With her high heels shoes on, she was almost the same height as he, about two inches shorter. Emori scanned his body up and down, raising a hand to put a lock of his hair back into place. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

During the ceremony, as he held his diploma in his hand, the black academic dress weighing on his body, he watched Emori walk across the stage. All the way, she held a blinding smile on her lips, her badass hand holding the diploma cover, her cap restraining the curly locks of her hair from dancing in the wind. John was pretty sure she was the most beautiful girl in the room, hands down. She walked towards her row, winking at him on her way back, and he didn’t know if it was the thrill of graduation or if he was having other sorts of feelings, but it made his cheeks flush and his heart flutters inside his chest.

In that same year, space squad spent New Year’s Eve on the front yard of their house, drinking bubbly champagne and watching as fireworks painted the sky. They were one step behind the new year, and John couldn’t stop thinking about Emori’s honest yet drunk proposal in their graduation party, saying they should kiss at midnight if neither of them had a date. Was that why he turned down the cute girl from his creative writing class when she reached out to him a week after their graduation?

With every passing second, his heart hammered harder in his chest. He was being stupid again, obviously. Emori probably didn’t even remember she had said that, it was just a funny thing to say at the moment because they were both dancing and laughing like crazy.

Ten, nine, eight–

“Hey, stranger.”

Drawing his eyes from the cheerful sky, Emori wrapped her arms around him, resting a hand on the back of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair, giving him goosebumps.

“Hey,” he answered, not fighting the goofy smile on his lips.

She smiled shyly. “Is our deal still on?”

Okay, so she did remember it. In his mind, knowing that she was conscious when that offer took place would make things easier, but it was not that simple in reality. Did that mean she was being serious? That she wanted it to happen? Was she looking forward to it too?

John nodded, swallowing the anxious laugh that tried to emerge from him. Emori nodded back.

Three, two, one!

“Happy New Year,” she whispered against his lips.

Feeling her smile, he took her mouth in his, just a quick and soft peck on the lips for his lack of experience. He told himself he was fine with it because what if he was sloppy or had bad breath or if he clashed his teeth with hers if he dared to deepen the kiss? Oh God, how embarrassing would that be?

Emori, on the other hand, didn’t share the same concern. After he reluctantly released her, she kissed him once, then again, and again, and again, until all his insecurities melted away and her bottom lip was trapped between his.

The whistling and popping sounds of the glowing fireworks above them could easily be mistaken by the ones inside his chest, the technicolor explosion of her lips tinting his monochromatic heart.

Emori jolted him when she unexpectedly broke their kiss, his whole body shivering with the sudden loss of her warmth. They both stared at each other, gasping and panting, taking in what had just happened. John glanced at her lips, at how her lipstick was a little smudged by then.

He pointed at his mouth. “You have– just a little bit–”

Emori frowned.

He groaned at his ridiculous incoherence and exasperated attempt to sound cool about the kiss, but his brain seemed like it had liquified with the taste of her tongue. John reached for her, brushing his thumb softly on her bottom lip, trying to wipe the lipstick off her skin. Her gaze and parted lips didn’t help, of course, as he caught himself drawn by them again.

She thanked him, taking a step back. “Happy New Year, John.”

He watched as she walked away, glancing over her shoulder once before joining Raven on the porch. “Happy New Year, Mori.”

The kiss subject died there.

Two years later, with Emori working in an aerospace manufacturer and John as a high school teacher, he finally started dating but, of course, the universe had to conspire against him, making his girlfriend overflow with hate for his best friend. The first time they met, John thought Ontari would stab Emori with a fork as she watched them hug, burning Emori alive with her unkind gaze. In the beginning, he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him now that he finally had someone, that he was overreacting, and Ontari wasn’t that jealous of him.

A few months went by and John moved in with Ontari. If you asked Emori for her opinion on that matter, she would say he was blind, and that living together was the biggest mistake of his life. The thing was that yes, perhaps Ontari was a bit violent sometimes, but it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before. Besides, he really didn’t think he was the kind of guy who could be loved so fondly it made people want to throw up. No, the only type of love he knew was the one that hurt and bled and stung, and that was all he expected of others.

When he first reconsidered his relationship with Ontari, Emori had just seen the bruises on his face, a dark circle on his cheek, his swollen bottom lip from a cut. There had others before that time; slaps to the face, punches to the gut, a cigarette burn once on his chest – some of them weren’t visible, and if they were, John was really good in hiding them.

Emori, holding his face in both of her hands, brushed her thumb softly on the unharmed part of his lip, her eyes evaluating the lesions. “Did she do this to you?”

“It was nothing.”

“Like hell it was.”

She tilted his head to get a better look at the purple coloring his cheek, shaking her head. “She’s hurting you.”

Emori sighed, dropping her hands by her side. “You can’t keep doing this, John. You don’t deserve this.”

John snorted. “What is it? Is it because I started dating? Are you jealous or something?”

Emori huffed. “That isn’t dating, John. It’s abuse.”

“No, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That same night, Ontari wasn’t so pleased after knowing he met Emori, just the two of them. All the while he tried to explain they were just friends, she had him pinned against a wall, her hands locked around his throat. With shortness of breath, his mind took him to his best friend, to her worried words, the gentleness in her eyes, the touch of her skin on his lips. Oh, how he wished he had listened to her.

He waited until Ontari had had enough, choking him and forcing him to do things he really didn’t want to, letting her fall into a peaceful sleep before gathering all his things and heading to Emori’s place. He knew better than to hang around and wait to end things nicely – there was no nice with Ontari. She had hurt him before, several times, but that was the first time he felt scared. He was not going to put up with it anymore, not after what he’d been through with his mom, that was for sure.

Emori’s jaw dropped at the same instant she opened the door, noticing the purple bruise circling his throat. She reached for him, her hesitant fingers brushing lightly on the mark, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

Her voice was low. “What happened?”

“You were right,” John replied, taken over by embarrassment. “Can I stay here for a few days?”

Emori wrapped her hands around his waist, nodding against his chest. “Stay as long as you need.”

John held her tightly, arguing with his mind to keep his mouth shut, to not expose ten years of bottled up feelings in that specific moment. Maybe he could tell her some other time, when the Ontari situation was already lost in the past. But what if he was too late? Could he ever bear seeing the woman he loves with another guy or girl?

Should he continue to ignore his emotions, and move on with her being just his friend? Or should he hold on to the tiny string of hope he had inside him? Well, they did kiss two years ago – did she remember it? Did she want it? Did she like it?

“Is it over?” Emori asked against his sweater, the vibration of her voice provoking an earthquake inside his chest.

He nodded. “I mean, not really. But she would’ve followed me if I had stuck around. I couldn’t, Mori, I–”

She held him tighter, caressing the space between his shoulder blades. “I know, I know.”

Emori pulled back, her questioning eyes staring at him. “But you don’t… love her, do you? I mean, you’re not coming back to her, right?”

John denied, shaking his head. Acting out of fear, and with the thought of “better said than sorry” in his mind, he plucked up the courage, forcing the words out, “That was never gonna work.”

“Yeah, but you don’t–”

“No, Emori, I could never love her,” John cut her off. He sighed, closing his eyes. “I can’t because she’s never gonna be you.”

“John?” She called him, her endearing voice making his eyelids fly open instantly.

Her bottom lip trembled, her kind brown eyes melting before his. “I need you to tell me something.”

“What?” He whispered.

“I need to know how you really feel…” she said, “about me.”

“Mori, I–“

John sighed. He always had a deep passion for words. How someone always came up with the right thing to say or write, the pleasant sound of each letter combination, the infinite interpretation of sentences. Words always sounded so beautiful, so pure, so meaningful, but, at the same time, so meaningless. When it came to express his own feelings, no matter how hard he tried, words would never express the same magnitude as his actions. Maybe he wasn’t able to tell her, but maybe he could show her.

He cupped her face, slowly narrowing the gap between them, a part of his brain still certain that she was going to push him off and slap him in the face. When he saw her eyelids close, John brushed his lips against hers, feeling the warm, minty breath from her parted ones, the reluctance yet magnetic pull between their mouths. Emori circled her arms around his middle, her hands exploring the soft wool of his sweater under her palms.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, and he smiled widely, feeling his heart fuss inside his chest.

Emori made sure not to meet his bruised lip, her mouth kissing the corner of his and taking the liberty to lock his top lip between hers as he tangled his hands in her hair, smelling the scent of her shampoo just as vivid as that day she hugged him, the day he realized another switch had turned on inside his heart. His lips tingled from the electrical sparks her touch gave him, exactly like the first time they kissed, and his body frequently gasped for air with every slide of her hands on his back.

Emori rested her forehead against his, both of them sharing the same air, the quick rise and fall of their chests trying to catch their breath. Years of unspoken feelings floated around them, dancing and twirling in the cold winter breeze, celebrating their freedom, as they held onto each other.

John shook his head. “I’ve been feeling this for so long.”

Emori chuckled. “Me too.”

She softly brushed a knuckle on his cheek, lowering her hand to the colored circle around his throat, placing a gentle kiss on his bruised skin.

“I promise I’ll never hurt you,” she whispered against his neck.

He nodded, swallowing hard, taking her face in both his hands to look into her eyes. “What do we do now?”

Emori smiled. “Now,” she said, laying a soft kiss on his lips, “we allow ourselves to be happy.”

A lopsided smile took shape in his mouth. “No more wasting time.”

John lifted Emori off the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist, his smile growing wider as she giggled in his ear, the most adorable sound echoing inside his brain. With a light kick, he closed the door behind him, both of them disappearing inside her apartment.

[canonicallyanxious]

Final thoughts on hp and the deathly hallows [and the rest of it i guess]

Okay say what you want about jkr but the woman can write a damn good conclusion like the entirety of the battle of hogwarts? I did not breathe, i had tears perpetually in my eyes, i could feel the tension in my chest, hot damn it was so fuckin good and it was all the better because it was this perfect culmination that built off of the entire rest of the series before then like you just KNOW this is what everything has been leading to

[although honestly as a kid like the epilogue was delightful to me bc it was endlessly fascinating to see what happened to everyone but as an adult i really do feel like the conclusion of the book would have been stronger if it had just ended with Harry in the headmaster’s office saying he’d had enough trouble for a lifetime like really and truly]

[ALTHOUGH “all was well” is a DAMN good last sentence for a series this epic]

Anyway i don’t know that i have anything intelligent to say about this book? The whole thing is really astonishingly well paced, every event leads perfectly to the next, everything just slots into place, every emotional beat hit exquisitely, i wouldn’t change a thing about it [except for just deleting the epilogue lol]. I’m so impressed honestly like i remember when i was a kid i found this book so so exciting but i also remembered there being long stretches of misery and angst but those long stretches as an adult were much shorter than i realized, and not in a bad way either! Ron was gone for much less time than i thought he would be, and earlier than i remembered as well, but I’m glad for it, really

The themes of selflessness and kindness and love throughout not just this book but the entire series = A+++

Although can i just say JKR does not know how to write romance like y’all can fight me on this but she just doesn’t lol. Not least of all because Severus’s “love” for Lily is, like, so obviously unhealthy from the VERY BEGINNING where he spends so much time spying on her [god like he doesn’t even have any real remorse over using the word “mudblood”, like Lily said, if he’s so willing to treat every other muggle-born the same way why should she be any different?], like I can’t believe we’re supposed to take “after all this time?” “Always” as a genuinely touching moment because if he really loved her he would have taken the time to actually get to know Harry and not let his old schoolboy rivalry with James blind him. You can argue that his revulsion to Dumbledore’s plan to prepare Harry for his own death is part of his redemption but by his own admission he’s mostly only horrified because this whole time he thought he was saving Harry for LILY, not for Harry’s sake. You can argue that his role in being a double agent wouldn’t have been nearly as convincing if he actually demonstrably cared for Harry, but imo there’s no excuse for being as abusive and as vitriolic as he was toward not just Harry but Neville, Hermione, and countless other students. He didn’t have to be nice, even; he just didn’t have to be a BULLY. Anyway if JKR can’t change my mind that Snape is a piece of shit no one else can sorry about it.

And personally i think that the idea of a patronus, basically the physical representation of someone’s identity and soul, changing because of a different person is romantic rather than a sign of obsessive and unhealthy love is, uh, not great. But that’s just me.

On the subject of Dumbledore, all I will say is, I understand where his character is coming from but he’s definitely a very flawed character.

But then again that’s the wonderful thing about these books - they’re all quite flawed, in their own ways. Even our best guys - Harry has a temper and is prone to rash judgments because of it, Ron can be jealous and unkind in that jealousy, and Hermione can be narrow-minded and stubborn, constantly convinced she’s in the right even when it’s clear she’s not. Just scratching the surface, of course. But the flaws are what make them human, and relatable, and so easy to root for. Because at their very core, all our guys want to do what’s right, and would put the needs of others above their own in a heartbeat, and that’s what makes it so enjoyable to follow their stories, for me, to know how hard it is to be good and to see these kids be good anyway.

I feel like I could go on about these books and it feels like i have a million things to say but idk how to put them into words so i guess I’ll just say - these books were so important to me as a child, and as an adult it’s been an absolute privilege to remember why they were so important, and to in fact fall in love with them all over again. They’re really special books, honestly. JKR isn’t a perfect writer by any means and these books, too, are far from perfect, but still she’s accomplished something extraordinary with them, and honestly it’s no wonder almost everyone i know holds Harry Potter near and dear to their hearts. I’ve loved every second of reliving this journey with this amazing, wonderful character, and I’m glad I got to grow up with him, too.

Gonna go write some gay as shit wolfstar fic now bye everyone [eat my entire ass JKR you will no-homo Lupin over MY DEAD BODY]